


Baby Daddy

by crypt_mirror



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017), Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alien sciency stuff, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Holy rom com Batman, Humor, Kryptonian Biology, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg, N52 Superman, Not your usual mpreg fic, because N52 suit, dysfunctional superhero boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror
Summary: From the Art Prompt: The Mother Box didn't just give Clark a new life, but two. No one could fathom the codex inside his body would also be triggered that way, and now the League decide it's Batman who has to take resposibility for a very much pregnant Superman.Fic Summary: A pregnancy, a new relationship, a new superhero team andthe possibility of another brain melting world threat.What's a BatDad to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Albi's Art Prompt: _Baby Daddy_ see the gorgeous  
> [ART HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/superbatreversebang2018/works/14695554)  
>  Finally, I had a chance to join my first Bang ever in this fandom. It was amazing to get the chance to claim the lovely Art Prompt of Albi who is [drenched-in-sunlight](https://drenched-in-sunlight.tumblr.com) in Tumblr. Please check out her Tumblr for her wonderfully clever art and memes! Albi not only provided the prompt but also gave a ton of encouragement and cheering. So I kinda ran with the prompt that's why it's this massive of a fic. I really loved the idea of telling a SuperBat mpreg fic along with the the early days of the Justice League. Based primarily on DCEU canon but there is some mention of the N52 universe. Yes, I adore N52 Superman for reasons and I love the N52 suit and I think it'll be awesome if one day we get to see Henry Cavill wear it. 
> 
> This fic hand waves that bit where everyone in the Daily Planet knew Clark Kent died. It also handwaves a couple of other things all of which are intentional. Also for the purposes of this fic Clark was "dead" for six months before being resurrected. And A BIG THANK YOU to [susiecarter ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/pseuds)for her awesome "you can do this" spirit and beta work in this fic which required infinite patience on her part, as she tried to wade through my syntax, sentences and semantics. Of course all errors, quirkiness and general weirdness are all mine.

  

1.

  
One of the flatscreens along the wall in the bat cave showed the local news channel Gotham City One. Images of Wonder Woman and Superman appeared on screen. The headline at the bottom read, ALIENS ARE HOT.

“We went from outraged populace demanding justice for ‘victims of alien anal probing’ to a Kardashian tweeting, ‘I volunteer as tribute #aliensarehot #pickmeforprobing'. I wonder how Ms. Prince and Mr. Kent feel about this?” Alfred said as he came into Bruce’s office, quietly handing Bruce his coffee.

 Bruce Wayne took a long, grateful sip before answering. “Diana doesn’t care. She thinks it better for them to believe that she’s an alien rather than a member of an immortal race of warrior women.”  
  
“Hmm… that may not last too long; there are a few Reddit threads devoted to theories about her, including one dedicated to analyzing the inscriptions on her shield.”  
  
“Reddit?”  
  
“One must keep up.”  
  
Bruce resumed staring at the data crawling across the screen as he made notes on his tablet. Alfred gave him a moment before he cleared his throat. “And what about Mr. Kent?”  
  
“What about Mr. Kent?”  
  
“Master Wayne, have you at least spoken to him?”  
  
“I don’t know what Mr. Kent thinks about all this, Alfred, because I have not spoken to Mr. Kent.”  
  
“Well, the man has been occupied. Let me see: during this week alone, he stopped two attacks by pirates in the Indian Ocean that might otherwise have resulted in fatalities; he dealt with that wildfire in California; he assisted the FBI in neutralizing a terrorist threat that could have killed and injured hundreds in LA; there was an earthquake in Peru, a tsunami in Chile, and while he was there—according to social media—he helped deliver a baby or two. Possibly as many as ten. All this, while trying to put his life back together again. Maybe you should be the one to initiate a gesture of goodwill.”  
  
“Super-powered alien, Alfred. He could clearly make an effort. And as for goodwill, I did get his family home back.”  
  
“Master Wayne, would you like me to text him? Invite him to tea, perhaps? Talk to his mother? ‘Hello, Mrs. Kent, can you please bring Master Clark around to play with Master Bruce?’”  
  
Bruce didn’t trust himself to answer, afraid of what he’d say with his nerves on edge. Everything about Clark was a potential landmine, it seemed, just waiting to blow up in Bruce’s face; perhaps it was better if he made himself scarce every once in a while.  
  
Alfred had walked over to his worktable—he peered through his glasses at the new cowl he was working on, and decided now would be a good time as any to solder the additional wiring it needed. “The word on BuzzFeed is that Elon Musk wants to hire Superman. Meanwhile, on TMZ, I encountered a rather spirited discussion on the appearance and size of his ‘junk’,” Alfred remarked neutrally.  
  
Bruce would rather not have known that his father figure watched TMZ. He began aggressively typing on his tablet, as he reconfigured the design specs of his new airplane, and decided to pretend he hadn't heard that second sentence. “Sure, along with NASA, Russia, China, and basically everyone with a space program. They see him as this inexhaustible and possibly foolproof way to launch their shit into space. They’re willing to pay him anything because of that. Not to mention the publicity.”  
  
“You disapprove.”  
  
“Of course I disapprove.” Bruce said quickly, glancing at Alfred. “If he does it for any one of them, it will open a massive can of worms and start a whole new kind of arms race.  Super-powered beings contracted for services. What’s next? The Flash selling a high-energy drink, Diana selling gym memberships, a League cooking show.” Bruce’s lips tugged upward with a small quirk. “I should talk to the lawyers about this. Funding the League with sponsors! Ads! I’ll have Victor start a ‘Gofundme’ page.”  
  
“Master Wayne, those are spectacular ideas.” A note of faint amusement colored Alfred’s voice  “I’m glad to see that Wharton education your parents invested in didn’t go to waste. Matters of funding aside, some would argue that there are metas that contract their services for villainous pursuits. Why shouldn't somebody like Superman, who’s on our side, do it not only for his own monetary benefit but also to possibly make things easier, better, for the rest of us?”  
  
“No, not Clark,” Bruce said softly.  
  
Alfred looked up through a wisp of smoke from the soldering iron in his hand, the slow work of joining two delicate pieces of wires together on hold for now as he contemplated Bruce’s response. It wasn’t what Bruce had said but how he'd said it: under the quiet words had been a ferocity, a certainty. Immediately he chided himself for entertaining certain ideas and quickly resumed working.  
  
“Hmmm…May I remind you, you have guests? It's rather poor form when you don’t show up to a meeting you’ve called for yourself.”  
  
The meeting. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, fortifying breath before he hurried down the corridor. Alfred had been right; he did miss the good old days of exploding wind-up penguins.  
                                                              _______  
  
“The Mother Boxes have been returned to their strongholds in Atlantis and Themyscira. Both nations will continue to uphold their duty even at great risk to themselves.” There were six chairs around the expansive table. Diana had opted to stand as she briefed everyone. Arthur sat at the far end eating one of Alfred’s roast beef sandwiches, generously dipped in garlic au jus sauce. Barry sat next to him, doing the same thing but faster.  
  
“I still don’t understand why Victor gets to hide the third one. He could easily become one of them.”

 

Victor, who had been quietly standing by the computers the entire time, took a step forward, with an ominous hum from his arm servos. Diana extended a staying hand in Victor’s direction. His servos slowly powered down, but both his cyborg and human eye were still glaring at Arthur.  
  
“Victor can be trusted. He has proven himself,” Diana said calmly.  
  
“You better be right, Princess. Too many people have already died for this thing.” Arthur met Diana’s quelling look steadily. “I know I’m just stating the obvious, but why not destroy the third one? If no one has three of them, this Unity can’t happen. Can’t we have Clark chuck it into the sun or something?”  
  
“Clark can’t just chuck a Mother Box into the sun,” Bruce said as he walked over to join them at the table, standing next to Diana. He resisted the urge to add, _which you’d know if you’d been paying attention_. “Dr. Silas Stone calls it a change engine because that’s what it does: it not only contains an immense amount of pure power and energy, it is also a catalyst to harness power and energy. If you throw one into the sun, which is basically a thousand thermonuclear explosions all happening at the same time, you could potentially end life on Earth.”  
  
Arthur held Bruce’s gaze for a long antagonistic moment. “Thank you, Bruce. And you know this because _he_ told you.” He jabbed a finger at Cyborg. “Of course, it must’ve occurred to you that he might not want us to destroy it.”  
  
Victor turned to him sharply. “Here you go again. Why are you always insinuating—“  
  
The Atlantean snorted. “Then what’s the point of this meeting? You, her, and him have obviously come to a decision already—”  
  
“It is the only decision to be made, Arthur,” Diana said, unperturbed by the rising level of testosterone in the room.  
  
“Hey guys, guys––watch the news,” Barry interrupted. He’d been monitoring various media and news feeds while the rest of them talked. He clicked one channel in particular and switched it over to the main viewscreen.  
  
A news guy with perfect teeth and a perfect tan was speaking with his perfectly modulated voice: “—and the serial killer who calls himself Sunday Sam is now in police custody. Sunday Sam has cut a murderous swath across the country over the past 8 months. His victims were children aged 10-12 years old, abducted in at least five different states. At each crime scene, he would leave passages from the Bible on slips of paper, signed 'Sunday Sam’. He had eluded one of the most massive manhunts in FBI history until two nights ago; a 911 call in Ivy Town’s South Side brought him to the attention of the police. They found him bound in his apartment, with evidence that connected him to all the murders. Sources said that the police found him crying and very distraught, muttering about ‘the demon with brimstone eyes’––“  
  
“Huh, he didn’t mention this during brunch,” Barry wondered out loud.  
  
“Brunch? When? It’s only ten o’clock in the morning,” Cyborg asked, from behind the soft glow of various images and feeds projected from his cybernetic eye.  
  
“Earlier… in Madrid, though it was really lunch there. But since we hadn't had breakfast yet, it was more like brunch for us. Clark was starving—he’s always starving—and he wanted to try the paella and tapas from that place Di mentioned. Thanks, Di!”  
  
Cyborg gave him a wry glance. “You just had a big brunch, and now you’re eating all of Alfred’s sandwiches.”  
  
“That was six hours ago on the other side of the world! Since then I’ve had another meal, and now it’s time for a snack.”  
  
Diana gave Barry a warm smile before she turned to Bruce. “And how is Clark?” she asked in a low voice.  
  
_I wouldn’t know, Diana_ , he wanted to say. The battle with Steppenwolf had been 4 weeks ago. He'd seen Clark two days after that when he visited the Kent farm, after he bought the bank that held their mortgage. Then there was that one time he'd had to ask Superman to help track down a group of rogue mercenaries selling alien tech they'd scavenged off the battle-zones. It had been a surreal experience asking for Superman’s help, and Clark had known he wasn't terribly comfortable with it—that fact had seemed to be a source of amusement for the Kryptonian, which had only added to Bruce’s discomfiture. But it had been the most efficient way to get that alien tech out of Gotham as soon as possible and into the secret bunker Bruce had secured in the middle of the Minnesotan wilderness. And it had also been a good opportunity to gauge the alien’s state of mind, since he'd just come back from the dead. Clark had seemed distracted at times, though professional enough when it came to following through with Bruce’s plan. Then he'd flown off to a different crisis as soon as they'd finished the job, which had suited Bruce just fine. There really hadn't been any time to stand around and talk about _feelings_.  
  
“He told me he was planning to return to the Daily Planet after he sorted everything out. Lois kept his death under wraps, at Martha’s insistence. Superman died, but as far everyone else knows, Clark Kent has been travelling and freelancing, possibly writing a book—trying to find himself, so to speak. It helped that Clark had apparently been getting vocal about his feelings about the kind of news he’s been asked to report; he took a leave from the Daily Planet 3 weeks before Doomsday happened.”  
  
“A mother’s instinct,” Diana observed, a note of admiration in her voice. “Do you know if he’s coming?”  
  
“Barry?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Err… the answer to that question comes in two parts…” Barry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“One part that you won’t like and one part that you’ll absolutely hate,” Barry said, head bent as he typed on his keyboard, trying to avoid Bruce’s direct gaze.  
  
“Barry…” Bruce warned.  
  
As if on cue, Bruce could see the perimeter alarms of the Batcave turn red on his smart watch. In half a second, Clark was floating next to the Batmobile. It was clear he hadn't used the elevator, a fact that annoyed Bruce even more. “Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late.” He wasn’t wearing his cape; it was covering something square he was holding in his arms.  
  
“Annnddd here’s the part you’ll probably absolutely hate…” Barry murmured, then waved at Clark. “Heyyy, Supes! Thank God, you’re here!” Barry greeted, his mouth now full. His left hand was abruptly balancing another roast beef sandwich, dripping with au jus sauce. Bruce gave him a stern look; Barry gave a sheepish smile in reply, and rescued his keyboard before it could get soaked in the thick drippings.  
  
Victor murmured a quick ‘Hey’ while Arthur waved from his corner, another smirk on his face.  
  
“Did you have anything to do with this?” Bruce demanded, gesturing toward the news report that was still playing in the background.  
  
“Good morning, Bruce,” Clark said easily, ignoring Bruce’s scowl. “Yes, I did, and look,” and with that Clark took off the cape.  
  
With a flicker, Barry abandoned sandwich, keyboard, and sauce, and was instantly next to Clark. “Look at them! They’re adorable!”  
  
Clark gently put the small square cage down on the table. Inside were two golden hamsters, their button noses sniffing the side of the cage where Clark’s hand was. Bruce frowned.  
  
“This is Jack and Bobby. They were his pets.” Clark nodded towards the TV screen.  
  
“The serial killer’s pets… uhhh… how do we know they’re safe? Maybe he fed them––you know––”  
  
“Barry! Must you? Really!?!” Victor said. Clark looked appalled and Arthur just shook his head.  
  
Bruce let out a breath and tried to keep his tone even. “First, why did you bring them here? Second, you can’t have Superman involved in an investigation like this. The defense attorney will tear the case apart—"  
  
“Bruce, I’m not seven. Investigative reporter here, thank you very much. I made sure nobody saw me. I merely led the cops in the right direction. Look, I’ve been following this case ever since I came back. All those kids, that monster…” Clark looked stricken; Bruce watched Clark clenched and unclenched his fist. “I just wanted to stop this.”  
  
“You could’ve come to me. Dealing with monsters like these is more my turf.” There was a dark, berating tone to his statement.  
  
“Bruce, I get what you’re trying to say but it’s all done now,” Clark said, more calmly. “As for the hamsters, Clark Kent was there when the story broke. I’m friends with the evidence guy, and I offered to take them off his hands. Maybe they could go to a nice home. I just didn’t want them end up with Animal Control or something. And since you guys are you, maybe one of you can take them? I’d like to think that we don’t just battle space monsters.”  
  
Bruce noticed Diana taking a slight step back; clearly she wasn’t even going to consider this. Barry had already made up his mind that the hamsters were somehow dangerous, even if by this point he had started feeding them bread crumbs while making strange cooing sounds at them.  
  
“Vic?” Barry asked without looking up.  
  
“I live in a lab, in case you haven’t noticed. Labs and hamsters: never a good idea.”  
  
“I don’t live anywhere,” Arthur said before anyone could even think of asking him.  
  
“Back to the point,” Bruce said. They were getting very much off course, thanks to Clark. As if fighting interstellar megalomaniacs wasn’t enough, they still had plenty of work to do to make themselves into a cohesive team. They’d just gotten really lucky with Steppenwolf. “Those ‘space monsters’ might still come back. That’s why we have these meetings, in between our already busy personal schedules––to debrief and discuss what worked and didn’t work the last time. If you’d cared enough to come last week, you’d know that.”  
  
“I do care. I also care about what happens when a boat that’s clearly meant to carry only 200 people carries 550, and that same boat is about to capsize off the coast of Tunisia. I care when the local government delays help because of rising anti-refugee sentiment. I care about a lot of things, Bruce, and I’m sure you do too, all of you. But the evil aliens are gone, and right now there are a thousand other bad things happening to the world out there. Maybe as a team we could do something.”  
  
“We are not gods,” Bruce snapped. He paused, fighting to control his impatience and irritability, then continued in a deliberately level voice. “We have our own cities to protect. Not all of us can zip around the world and magically solve everything in thirty minutes. You do what you want to do on your own time, Superman. Chase down serial killers, adopt hamsters, rescue cats from trees, and yes, save a boatload of refugees. That’s your business. But as a team, we can’t just barge into situations and ‘fix’ problems. Right now, Steppenwolf is our problem. We're the only ones who can deal with him and we have to be ready in case he comes back. And as for doing something, you know that the Wayne Foundation has partnered with a number of non-governmental agencies to help in the ongoing refugee crises, not to mention our continuing work with WHO and UNICEF to deliver and distribute vaccines and provide medical care in at least 20 of the world’s poorest countries. So don’t lecture me about the bad things out there.”  
  
Clark looked like he’d been gut-punched. “I understand. I just thought…” He was about to say something else, and then visibly decided against it. “You know what? I’m sorry. I’ll take these guys somewhere else. Next time an evil alien shows up, you know where to find me.”  
  
“Kal, wait,” Diana said, shooting an angry look at Bruce. She caught up with Clark, and the two of them began talking quietly at the other end of the hangar. As if on cue, Alfred materialized beside them and after another round of whispered consultations, the three of them were suddenly beaming smiles all around. Clark left, and Diana planted a kiss on Alfred’s cheek before she strolled back to the table like a queen returning to her subjects; Alfred was left smiling like a besotted 18-year-old, holding the hamster cage. Watching them, Bruce felt his jaw tighten. _A team. Right._  
  
Flash followed Bruce’s gaze. “Can I just say something? I like this. Is this going to be monthly? Weekly? I like that we can just get together to talk business, ‘cause I really kinda hoped we wouldn’t have to fight something every time we met.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair, and swung his heavily booted feet off the table. “That was the best meeting ever,” he said as he stood up, his derby hat now sitting askew on his head. “If all your meetings were like that, Bruce, I’d pay more attention. Let me know when he’s coming again. And another thing: I’m going to organize a pig roast down in Fiji, everyone’s invited. You could come too, Bruce.”  
  
Barry and Victor whooped and quickly googled Fijian pig roasts. Diana smiled indulgently as she shook her head, and then she noticed Bruce’s expression. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Bruce’s eyebrows knitted. His own instincts were telling him this was about more than just the serial killer or world peace. Something else was going on with Clark.  
  
“One of these days, he’s going to do something, and one of us is going to have to go after him,” Bruce said.  
  
2.  
  
One week later...  
  
"Wow! Another sub-level. Because the other three sublevels above us weren’t enough.”  
  
“I like to come here to think. Do you need a new phone? I texted you two days ago,” Bruce said as a preamble, as soon as Clark touched down behind him.  
  
"If you say so," Clark said dubiously as he took in the scene before him. The space around them was about the size of a small house, fully outfitted with Bruce’s electronics. Several monitors in front of Bruce showed the upper level and the grounds surrounding the ruins of Wayne Mansion. Despite the fact that the above-ground structures looked like a bomb had gone off, Clark knew the place was now wired with sensors. After Steppenwolf, Bruce had had the ruins walled off to prevent any more vandalism and had also set up a very sophisticated surveillance system for the mansion, which he apparently stared at for God knew how long… in a special room set aside for exactly that. Clark suppressed an eye roll before answering.  
  
“I don’t need a new phone, and by the way, I texted back this morning—you didn’t answer.”  
  
“What if it had been an emergency?” Bruce continued, ignoring everything Clark just said. “Communication between team members is crucial.”  
  
“There was no emergency, okay? You were fine. Everyone was fine.” Clark’s even tone was now tinged with irritation.  
  
“How the hell can you be sure? Did you scan the whole world? Listen for everyone?”  
  
“There was no emergency, Bruce,” Clark gritted out.  
  
“You could have just responded to the damn text, Clark.” Bruce bit back. He winced inwardly; this conversation was going nowhere fast and he had other things to do. He decided to ignore Clark and concentrate on the screen in front of him. But Clark didn’t sit quietly the way Bruce had been hoping; he started pacing behind Bruce instead. Bruce was going to have to try really hard not to be impatient with him.  
  
After a while, Clark stopped pacing and stood near Bruce. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Look, Clark, that meeting could have gone a little better,” Bruce said carefully. “You’re new at this; I should have realized that. Going forward, we could meet separately and discuss topics like that, off the team agenda. I understand that being both Superman and being Clark Kent gives you a unique perspective on ongoing world events.” He briefly glanced at Clark, then resumed scrolling through the data on the screen, alongside the Wayne Mansion surveillance.  
  
Clark stared at him with those blue eyes for a full minute before replying. “Wow, the non-apology apology. You sound like you just googled up a template: ‘As Superman and Clark Kent, you have a unique perspective’… blah, blah, blah…Please. You looked like you were about to have a stroke.”  
  
Bruce was a little disturbed by how accurate Clark’s impression was. But he tried to look like he was still thoroughly focused on tapping into the TERRA satellite systems, clicking through various maps. The data-stream from the satellite was sifted through an algorithm. Anyone snooping around would only see the Wayne Advanced Research Team accessing climate data; the activity couldn't be linked to the Batcave servers.  
  
This whole conversation had become a lost cause. By this time Clark should have left; then Bruce could continue to sulk in peace, at least until Alfred came by to insist on feeding him. “Anyway, how did you find me? Did you ping my cell? Scan the entire east coast? Zero in on my heartbeat? Which I have no doubt you’ve probably memorized, along with the rest of the League. Your mom mentioned you'd memorized hers.”  
  
He felt Clark stop behind his chair. “Ego, much? Well, you’re not my Mom. I don’t know if I should be appalled that you think I’m that creepy or flattered that you think that I could actually do all of that. I went by the lake house and asked Alfred, that’s all. I’m sorry about not answering; I was dealing with a couple of things, and like I said, there was no emergency.”  
  
Bruce made a mental note that Clark hadn’t actually denied possessing those capabilities and had once again sidestepped a question about his powers. He also felt very betrayed by Alfred. “I thought you’d be with Lois.”  
  
Clark sighed. “I _was_ with Lois.”  
  
Bruce caught the inflection in his voice. So that’s why he hadn’t answered Bruce’s text. “Are you okay?” It was the expected question.  
  
Clark moved next to Bruce and picked up the Margaux Bruce had been drinking, letting out a low whistle. “A bottle of this is a month’s rent for my apartment. By the way, thanks for paying my lease on a new one… you know you didn’t have to do that. I could just fly between Smallville and Metropolis.”  
  
“It’s nothing. I did buy a bank for you.” It was a statement of fact, and not meant to be condescending. Bruce stopped what he was doing and studied Clark.  
  
“Yes, you did, which is another thing. I mean, I’m grateful and everything… but can you not do that anymore, please? It’ll take me a while to pay you back as it is for the house.”  
  
Bruce drained his wine glass before answering. “I told you not to worry about it. So, you and Lois…”  
  
“If you must know, there’s no me and Lois anymore.” Clark sounded weary, watching absently as Bruce refilled his drink.  
  
“Are you––”  
  
“Stop that,” Clark said, his tone suddenly sharp. Bruce let the full weight of his gaze settle on Clark as he kept going, voice quivering. “Bruce, stop...fussing. I know you feel guilty, but maybe I don’t need that right now. Stop fixing things for me. We’re not even friends. And no, I’m not okay. I was dead and now I’m not, and maybe there’s a part of me that’s not okay with that, and yes… Lois and I aren't together anymore.We’re different people now. This––” he gave a half shrug, “––made us both different. I mean, we still care for each other … but it’s not the same anymore, I’m not the same anymore. Thank God Mom and you guys had the foresight for a cover story for my death. This, right here, now, is just––” He made a helpless gesture with his hands.  
  
“Too much, I know,” Bruce said softly. There was an unexpected pang in his chest. Clark was heartbroken; that’s why he’d come here. Back from the dead and heartbroken. Bruce took a long swallow of the Bordeaux, feeling it run hot along his throat. This was a whole world apart from telling Barry to start with just saving one person or playing basketball with Jason to teach him hand-eye coordination. Another potential Clark-shaped landmine, ready to blow up in his face if he wasn’t careful. He remembered each agonizing moment of their fight with Steppenwolf. Especially how Clark had joked about being dead, and the way it had felt like all the air had been sucked out of Bruce's chest.  
  
Bruce found his gaze drawn to Clark’s mouth while he was talking. The first time Bruce had ever truly stared at that mouth, Clark had been under his boot, his face bleeding from the cut Bruce had made with that Kryptonite spear. Sweat had collected in tiny perfect drops over Clark's upper lip. Blood tracking across his cheek… sweat and blood mixing... Superman’s chest, heaving in torturous breaths under his foot—and what wouldn't Bruce give to have Clark heaving and sweating once again just for him—?  
  
_We’re not even friends. And rightly so,_ came the answer in his head. All these images in his mind just made Bruce reel. It should have sickened him—the mere thought of being aroused by Clark twisting, writhing, and bleeding underneath him. He drained another glass, reached for the bottle and refilled it with slow deliberate movements, willing himself to control his thoughts

 And then he realized that Clark had stopped talking.

 He glanced up, expecting Clark to be irritated with him for his inattention. But to Bruce’s surprise, all Clark did was quietly take his wine glass from him and bring it slowly to his own mouth. Bruce watched him with a heavy stare, watched him tip the crystal edge against his lower lip; watched him take a long, slow sip. Watched him swallow, watched his Adam’s apple bob along the long column of his neck. Watched him flick a pink tongue out to catch a stray drop at the corner of his mouth…  
  
And Bruce exhaled. The breath sounded too loud into his ears; it must have been like a freight train to Clark’s. But he wasn’t going to just look away. Bruce felt he was now on steadier ground—but he needed to say something, just to break the hypnotic silence between them.  
  
“Just wanted to see why you like this stuff so much.” Clark made a face at the wineglass.  
  
“Guilt,” Bruce said, as if Clark hadn’t spoken. “A lot of that going around. Pick one; mine’s the obvious choice, and then there’s yours.” After a moment’s pause, he added slowly, “I’m sorry about Lois.”  
  
“Do you really care?" Clark asked, with a slight edge in his voice, as he carefully set the glass down. He squared his shoulders, then exhaled. “Sorry, you didn’t deserve that. All of this, it’s not your fault. As for guilt, right now I’m too busy thinking about mine. Don’t worry about yours. I mean, you saved my mom. I'll always be grateful for that.”  
  
Bruce considered this and decided it was a good time to push for answers. “You were calmer when I visited you at the farm. But lately… all the rescuing, Lois, the fact that you can’t even be still for two seconds—what is it?”  
  
“Bruce, ever since I came back… I’ve been feeling off. I know, 'give it time' and all that, but it’s been— all that energy from the Mother Box…” He stopped and stared at Bruce, and then shuddered. “I should go,” he said, and his voice had become intense, urgent.  
  
Clark’s eyes, this close—this close, and this tipsy, Bruce acknowledged; why else would he once again feel the need to just stare?—Clark’s eyes were broken shards of clear blue crystal, the fringes of them tinged with a faint red glow: blue sky just warming with the first hints of a desert sunset.  
  
Every instinct within Bruce was picking up the same thing, and all of them screamed danger. _Danger: let him leave, NOW_. But for all that most of his life had been about accurate calculation, precise planning, close attention to a sense of intuition honed by skill and experience, Bruce was aware all at once that he was consciously, deliberately not going to listen to any of it. “Why? Is there an emergency somewhere? Look, stay. Let’s figure this out. I’ll call Dr. Stone and Victor—they’re the experts.” He planted himself directly in front of Clark and set a staying hand on Clark's chest. He was just poking the bear at this point; if Clark really wanted to leave, that hand alone wouldn’t be able to stop him.  
  
But Clark stayed where he was, not moving, seemingly frozen in place, watching Bruce with half-lidded eyes.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
“Bruce, I can hear you, smell you—” Clark said desperately.  
  
"I swear to God, Clark, if you’re about to say the Mother Box made you gay…” The tone was Bruce Wayne's, light and sardonic, and yet all the effort Bruce could put into the delivery still wasn't enough to distract him from the feeling of Clark's chest underneath his palm.  
  
“No! I don’t know—everything is just …”  
  
Clark felt hot this close, like a furnace, and Bruce could see his lips quivering. His chest was heaving beneath Bruce’s hand—which was now grasping the alien fabric of Clark's uniform, though Bruce couldn't quite remember deciding to do it. Hardly enough to make Clark move anywhere he didn't want to go; and yet Clark yielded, allowing Bruce to pull him close, a thing that terrified and excited Bruce. This was a terrible idea in a life defined by terrible ideas. It wasn’t too late; Clark could still shove him off and leave, and they could just forget about this.  
  
But Clark didn’t move.  
  
The sound of water dripping onto the concrete became impossibly loud. The smell of Clark, this close, was unmissable: warm, clean, and crisp, with a subtle hint of pine _. Did he just fly over Canada?_ The muffled voice of the news anchor reporting on the stock exchange was easy to overwrite with more relevant words: _In other news, billionaire and relentless horny bastard Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, in another desperate move to do as many stupid things as humanly possible, is about to have sex with the very hot non-human he tried to kill six months ago…_ _  
_  
He leaned in, finally touching Clark's lips with his own. Bruce's kisses weren't tentative; but Clark didn't flinch. He just licked into Bruce's mouth until Bruce could taste the Bordeaux on Clark’s hot tongue.  
  
“Are you okay? Do you still want to leave?” Bruce said when they broke apart, as he gasped against Clark’s cheek.  
  
“God, no, this feels amazing, you feel amazing—fuck—” Clark sounded breathless, flustered, and this close it was impossible to miss the pretty flush climbing his face.  
  
Bruce couldn't hold himself back and rocked into Clark, hands gripping his ass. That body, under the ridiculous skintight outfit that enhanced rather than concealed all those hard muscles—and Clark was just as hard as he was; it was _glorious_.  
  
“Man of steel, huh?” Bruce managed to leer against Clark's lips, when he was able to take a breath.  
  
“God, don’t—” Clark moaned, as he tipped his head back too quickly—and dented the girder behind him. “Sorry…sorry…” he said, in between gasps.  
  
“You’re good as long as nothing's collapsed on us.”  
  
3.  
  
Bruce launched a full-on assault on Clark's neck—and the skin was impossibly soft under his mouth, for all that he'd just been joking about steel. He bit the base of Clark's throat, sucking as hard as he could, willing it to purple; but of course it wouldn’t. Not that that particular regret had any real sting, with Clark gasping and wantonly grinding against him. Bruce was grabbing and squeezing everything he could get his hands on—and then he felt cool air on his skin. Clark had popped the buttons on his designer dress pants to shove his hand down toward Bruce's cock. He'd never imagined Clark would be so brazen. Was this really him? Or was it the Mother Box?  
  
“Hmmph…those pants cost more than your rent…. best we take this somewhere more comfortable,” Bruce said, finally allowing some logic to assert itself: he really was too old to be fucking someone against a wall. He reached around Clark and quickly punched a code into a keypad next to a door behind them.  
  
“Of course you have a bedroom here,” Clark mumbled against his ear, before there was a whoosh.  
  
The world tilted briefly, and then Bruce blinked and steadied himself. He was standing next to his bed, looking down at Clark. Although he felt a bit manhandled, Bruce could adapt. And he had every incentive to adapt quickly, because Clark was on his bed looking up at him—wanting him.  
  
And, Bruce thought, he was about to have sex with Superman. Superman, a force stronger than a planet, wrapped in this unfairly handsome human-shaped form. Fuck. Bruce grabbed a half empty Oban 14 from the night stand and took a large swig of the whisky.  
  
“Have you done this before?”  
  
Clark stole a glance at the now almost empty bottle before he answered, “Me and my dad used to have this game. He’d throw raw eggs at me, and I was supposed to catch them without breaking them.”  
  
“Not really the time to mention your dad. But the point is, that egg thing is impossible. Not even people can do that.”  
  
“Well, I’m not ‘people’… At first, I had a lot of broken eggs. But then later on I just caught them without breaking them, not even thinking about it.”  
  
“That was the result of trial and error. _Lots_ of trial and error,” Bruce said. As much as it did for him, to have Clark there and clearly wanting him, he could feel his libido rapidly deflate at the thought of being part of a “trial"—or an "error.”  
  
“I grew up and experimented more… with stuff.” Clark’s cheeks were staining themselves as red as the cape he now twisted on his fingers, leaving no doubt in Bruce’s mind as to what Clark had experimented with. Clark ducked his head before looking at Bruce in the eye. “To put it simply, my senses are better than yours. There’s my biology, obviously, and then there’s this world where I could break all the bones in your fingers just by brushing my hand against yours. My body found a way to adapt to that. The closest thing that can describe it is proprioception—even down there…”     
  
“You mean, in your dick and your ass,” Bruce said pointedly. But he supposed there was some evidence to support the idea; Clark had been with Lois, and the woman was clearly walking around perfectly healthy. That was promising.  
  
Clark was watching him with eyes half-lidded. “Bruce, what are you afraid of? Just get over here and fuck me.”  
  
Bruce sniffed, but there was no denying Clark’s words made his dick twitch. Then there was the mental image of a young Clark, experimenting with himself, gasping and grinding against God knew what.

 He slowly and casually slid his slacks down his thighs, like he had all the time in the world—like his cock wasn’t half-hard again and there wasn’t a damp spot where the tip of his dick nuzzled against his boxers. He removed his shirt but kept his boxers and eased himself onto the bed, kneeling next to Clark, before he dipped his head, Clark’s features blurring in his sight as Clark met him halfway with no hesitation. Clark’s mouth parted easily beneath his, drawing Bruce in.

 And it was almost impossible not to wonder: was this really Clark? Would the old Clark, the Clark who'd fought him, the Clark that had thought Batman was a menace—would he ever be so yielding to Bruce’s touch?

 The thought curled uncomfortably through Bruce’s mind, but he clamped down on it by licking his way along Clark’s throat, annoyed at the fabric in the way. He deftly pushed the alien fabric off Clark's collarbone and sucked and bit at the warm skin he'd exposed. The shudder he felt run through Clark’s body when he pressed his teeth against the pulse beating in that long throat made Bruce groan appreciatively. The discovery that Clark, the alien, _the Superman,_ had a pulse point right there and could be made to shudder by a touch to it—that _Bruce_ could make him shudder—was nearly too much to bear.  
  
“Take this fucking thing off,” Bruce demanded as he roughly tugged at Clark’s uniform. Bruce couldn’t see any zippers or fasteners; it was one giant fucking unitard.  
  
There was a soft chuckle. “Okay, you might wanna give me a little space.”  
  
Bruce moved to one side and smirked. “Why? Having second thoughts?”  
  
“You want this off, right?” Clark said as he eased himself up on one elbow.  
  
Bruce nodded slowly. He watched as Clark laid a hand on the S shield on his chest, and a soft white glow coruscated around the shield. In the next few seconds Bruce had an acutely unfamiliar feeling that somehow he wasn’t in time  with the rest of the world—Clark’s suit was moving by itself, except that wasn’t even the right word for it. The soft white glow extended outward; the material of the suit pixelated, folded, then disappeared a section at a time, gradually uncovering smooth muscled skin underneath. After another moment, the S shield was the only thing left on Clark’s broad chest—but there was still the portion from the waist down, slung low beneath the gold oval of the Kryptonian glyph, the alien fabric skimming deliciously below the V of muscles at his hips, fraying the edges of Bruce’s control.  
  
He must’ve have a strange look on his face, because Clark grinned at him playfully. “Should’ve warned you. Usually it just takes a split second for everything to come together, but I thought you’d want to see it come off...slowly.”  
  
“That’s...cool…” _Okay, try not to sound like Barry. You’re Batman, for fuck’s sake_. His mind toyed with the possibility of adapting this alien tech. “That’s useful. Nanites, and probably psionics, since it’s very responsive. Thanks for slowing it down.”  
  
Clark quirked a brow at him, and then leaned back as Bruce divested himself of his boxers. As he followed the length of Clark’s body with his eyes, he wondered about his scars and whether being in this position emphasized the stubborn flab on his gut. But Clark only pulled him closer, intense blue eyes flicking over his skin. A tentative hand traced a thick ridge of flesh that extended from his stomach down to his hip, a reminder of an almost fatal knife wound. “This must’ve hurt,” Clark murmured.  
  
Bruce hummed. “Perks of being human.”  
  
“And yet you just go on,” Clark said quietly. Curious hands roamed Bruce’s body; he could feel Clark’s fingers searching out each scar, shallow and deep. And Bruce indulged him for a while—until at last he had to surge forward and kiss Clark, hungry and dirty, sliding both of his hands down to squeeze Clark's thighs. He felt the alien fabric uncover more and more skin, until he could stroke his fingers right into the bare cleft of Clark's ass. Clark arched against Bruce as he did it, a quiet moan falling from his mouth before it was choked off by Bruce biting and sucking his lower lip. Bruce could feel Clark’s cock throbbing against his thigh, the heat there impossible for him to ignore. He dragged his mouth away from Clark's and worked one hand between them to palm Clark’s cock, thumb dragging greedily along the growing shape of it.  He looked down at Clark’s cock: red, thick, and hard. He was cut, with a beautiful head; there were even veins, and his balls hung heavy. Maybe all Kryptonians were made like that—call it one hell of a win for alien genetic engineering.  
  
Bruce pressed a hand on the shield across Clark’s chest.

 “My family’s shield. On Krypton, it meant 'hope.'”

 “I know, I saw the video. Cute kids.”

 “Hmm… I’ll take it off.”

 “Don’t. Keep it there.” Bruce liked it where it was: a reminder of what he was dealing with, no matter how beautiful. He dipped his head and outlined the edge of the shield with his fingertips, noted how warm it felt and how it was just slightly raised above Clark's skin, yet perfectly molded to the shape of his chest. He let his fingers glide over to Clark’s nipple, stroked and pulled it, and a rumbled moan escaped from Clark’s mouth as he let his head back fall into the pillow, fingers digging into Bruce’s hair.  
  
“My turn to experiment,” Bruce purred at Clark’s neck. He reached over to the nightstand to pull out lube and a condom.  
  
Clark blinked at him. “You don’t need that. I don’t get sick, you won’t catch anything, and I was dead for six months and then resurrected… I guess that makes me a virgin…” Clark flushed once again, even as he ground up against Bruce. Their cocks slid against each other, the friction and the heat simultaneously rough yet achingly good.  
  
For the second time in a short period Bruce felt his brain was about to go offline. “Fucking Christ, you’re going to be the death of me.” He tossed the condom back into the drawer. Quickly, he slid off Clark and slicked up his fingers.“Keep your hands at your sides or this will be over before we even start,” Bruce ordered.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Clark returned a smirk and played along.  
  
Bruce ignored the smirk, focused and intense, and hauled Clark closer to him, legs opened wide and knees flexed. The sight of Clark like this almost made him lose it: fine hair over powerful thighs, tight dark curls around his erection. Bruce grasped his thigh with one hand, then stroked the skin behind Clark’s balls with the other. Clark’s hips twisted upward, inviting more contact, which pleased Bruce; but of course Clark still had to learn that everything was a process. Slowly, he circled Clark’s rim, getting him moist with lube. Clark’s hands grasped at the sheets, and he made a strangled sound, low and needy…  
  
“I want to hear you, Superman,” Bruce growled. He slid a slicked hand down Clark’s cock, a thumb teasing over the slit again and again. Clark bucked up against the loose circle of Bruce’s hand, and when his hips came down, Bruce slipped one finger into his hole all the way to the knuckle.  
  
“Bruce!” Clark gasped out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rocked onto Bruce’s hand, shifting his legs for better leverage; his hands were still clenched tight against the sheets, keeping to Bruce’s instructions not to touch him.

Bruce slid two more fingers into Clark’s hole, pressing and pushing. He stroked Clark’s cock long and hard, moving his fingers in and out his hole till he felt Clark arch and levitate off the bed—literally, for a moment. Clark came, groaning and shuddering, hot cum spattering across his chest and dribbling down Bruce’s hand. Bruce remained relentless, still pumping Clark hard and fast as he shivered and spilled more cum while Bruce's fingers moved inside him.  
  
Bruce finally released Clark. _And look at that, I didn’t break my fingers. Guess the kid was right_ .  
  
Clark moaned under him, shaky from his orgasm. God, it was like opening one gift after another, Bruce thought: Clark showing him such undeniably human responses,  even when he was in truth so alien. He grabbed Clark’s hips again, then stroked his own aching cock with cum-slicked hands. He slid his cock up and down the cleft of Clark’s ass, still feeling the wetness there from the lube.  
  
He waited until Clark had recovered enough to meet his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, voice hoarse.  
  
Clark groaned, “Yes!” And Christ, he was eager, spreading his legs for Bruce without hesitation. Bruce pushed in and didn’t stop till Clark’s ass had taken every inch of his cock, Clark crying out as Bruce breached him.  
  
Bruce savored the tight warmth that surrounded his cock.“You feel so fucking good,” Bruce said as he began to drive himself in and out of Clark’s ass, working himself gradually deeper and deeper. And Clark, beautiful Clark, was just glowing, eyes closed, gasping, holding onto Bruce’s hips, keeping him right _there_ .  
  
Bruce leaned forward; he couldn’t resist. “Open your eyes—look at me.”  
  
Clark opened his eyes. That familiar, intense blue was ringed with red, and for a moment Bruce thought Clark was about to flash-fry him—but what a way to die, buried balls-deep inside the most perfect ass in the universe. He bent down and kissed Clark, and Clark kissed him back just as fiercely, wet and messy, even as Bruce’s cock pistoned in and out of Clark’s fucked-open hole. Clark’s… _Superman’s_ hard, hot body under him, taking his cock so good, arching up to meet each and every punishing thrust—  
  
Bruce’s orgasm slammed through him like lightning. He let out a shout as he ground his hips against Clark’s ass, not wanting it to end, riding out the last few thrusts as deep inside Clark as he could get. He let his dick soften inside Clark and then collapsed, hot and sweaty; Clark shook beneath him. Bruce could feel Clark's heart thump against his chest just as he felt his own trip-hammering against his ribs. For a moment he was content just breathing with Clark.  
  
“That was intense,” Clark said. His fingers stroked Bruce’s back lightly.  
  
“Yeah,” Bruce gasped out, finally sliding down beside Clark on the bed.

 

They lay there for a while, not a word spoken by either of them; Bruce didn't really mind. He wasn’t the best person for pillow talk anyway. Just as Bruce was beginning to wonder if Clark was going to stay over—which might not be ideal, considering he still had patrols planned for later that night—Clark rolled out of bed and quickly padded into the bathroom. He came out fully dressed in his Superman suit, looking _too_ fucking bright _and_ bushy-tailed and not at all fucked-out, much to Bruce’s annoyance.  
  
He moved to the side of the bed, bent down, and kissed Bruce softly on the lips. “Well, I’ll let you sleep. Bye, Bruce.”  
  
Before Bruce could bring his brain back online, Clark had disappeared, leaving nothing but a slight breeze behind him.  
  
_Shit. So that’s how it feels_. Yet Bruce couldn’t help but smile.  
  
Yeah, Clark was right: he needed his rest. He was admittedly too tired to even clean himself, at this point. Just as he was about to nod off, his phone buzzed irritatingly by his head. He glanced at it and felt his ears go hot. It was a text from Alfred, admonishing him to be a better host next time and use Bruce’s perfectly comfortable room upstairs.  
  
  
  
4.  
  
Bruce figured the sex ought to be enough to relieve the tension or whatever it was between them, which was very fortuitous. Three days later, it was “bug patrol” time; apparently not all of the parademons had left Earth. Some of them hadn't gotten sucked in by the glowy vacuum in the sky, as Barry had colorfully put it, and there was word coming out of Poland about sightings of overgrown winged creatures attacking and carrying off people once again.  
  
It didn't take long to discover the majority of the swarm, in a state of suspended animation in an abandoned nuclear plant out in the countryside. However, there were also some parademons that were definitely not suspended anymore. Cyborg postulated it a was a loop in their hive mind that was sending them to do the last task they'd been programmed for, over and over again.  
  
The team worked efficiently this time. Bruce held the perimeter; Clark, Arthur, and Diana went right smack to the middle of the nest, freeing the hostages and dispatching any parademons in their way, while Cyborg and Flash evacuated everyone to safety. It erupted into a full-blown battle when the parademons sent out some sort of signal—the next thing they knew, another hive of parademons had descended on the town to reinforce the original group.  
  
There was a mounting pile of parademon carcasses on the parking lot, and every couple of seconds a flash of red would zip by, contributing several more of Steppenwolf’s minions.  
  
When everything was over, the pile of parademons had become a heap about five stories high, including all the cybernetic body parts and weapons they'd cleared out of the nest.  
  
“That went well,” Diana said as she shook a few stray drops of inky parademon blood from the end of her sword.  
  
“It did this time,” Bruce said.  
  
“That’s a big pile. What are we going to with them?” Arthur asked.  
  
Bruce scanned the pile with sensors in his cowl. “Dispose of them. We don’t want anyone messing with this tech, and there's still a possibility they might reanimate again.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I have an idea,” Clark said, hovering in profile above them. Backlit by the setting sun, his red cape rippling and undulating around him perfectly even though there was barely any breeze, enhancing everything—it really wasn't fair, Bruce thought.  
  
The idea in question turned out to be borrowing a couple of barricade nets—the kind used on aircraft carriers to stop runaway jets—and Diana’s lasso. Clark consulted with Diana about the capabilities of her lasso and figured out how to make it work with the aircraft netting. After the League secured all the parademons in the net-lasso contraption, Superman was ready to transport them, so they could eventually be thrown into the sun.  
  
“I thought we were _not_ chucking things into the sun,” Arthur said in a dry tone as he stood next to Bruce.  
  
“It’s not a Mother Box,” Bruce replied coolly, and left it at that.  
  
“So, what are we doing next?” Victor asked as he watched Superman lift up the entire thing and ran the calculations; the physics of what Clark was doing were just impossible, but there he was.  
  
"We debrief, same place," Bruce growled as the team prepared to file into the Flying Fox.  
  
The debriefing was mostly uneventful this time, and mercifully short. When it was over, Clark and Barry headed out on a food run; they were somewhere in the province of Guangdong when a familiar growl came over Clark’s comm. “Thirty minutes. You know where to go.”  
  
Clark flushed and almost choked on his char siu. He said a quick, “Sorry, Flash,” before flying away, leaving a befuddled Barry with at least ten pounds of barbecued pork.  
  
29 minutes and 59 seconds later (which in this case equaled rescuing people/stopping: five traffic accidents, an avalanche and derailed trains on two continents) the silent perimeter alarm went off, and Bruce swore when a particularly sharp gust of wind almost knocked over the very expensive Macallan he was drinking; it was saved only by his superior reflexes. And then he looked up and his whole expression changed, eyes raking over Clark with the air of a large cat looking at its prey.  
  
His “prey” countered with a smirk, and an unmistakable look of hunger. Neither of them spoke, as they moved closer and closer to each other, and then Bruce dipped his head down and claimed Clark with a brutal kiss. Clothes ripped (Bruce’s) and disappeared (Clark’s) as they tumbled into bed, and in a matter of moments Clark’s dick was throbbing in Bruce’s hand, in between frantic kisses and relentless grinding and groping. When Clark took Bruce down his throat, all Bruce could do was clench his fingers in Clark's hair and thrust his hips. He moaned and murmured, “C’mon…C’mon—so good …" and it was intoxicating how Clark focused on him with that half-lidded gaze, those long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, so clearly enjoying the sight of Bruce coming apart. Later, when Bruce came once again—this time buried to the hilt inside Clark—slivers of self-recrimination and guilt came unbidden; but Bruce allowed them to be pushed down by the amazing sight of his cum leaking out of Clark’s perfect ass.  
  
But even later still, with Clark’s large frame impossibly curled up against his chest, there were no distractions to be had. Bruce was awake and could no longer ignore his own doubts. _Why are you here? Why are you doing this with me? And, most importantly, what are you doing to me?_ The idea of being someone’s rebound relationship had never bothered Bruce Wayne; he enjoyed sex, whatever reason was behind it. And Bruce very much enjoyed sex with Clark—judging from Clark’s responses, the feeling was mutual.  
  
“What is it? I can hear you thinking,” Clark murmured against his skin. Bruce knew Clark had fallen asleep after all their exertion, but he should have realized that was no guarantee. It was a wonder to him how easily Clark could fall into a blissfully sound sleep—and how easily he woke up from one, too.  
  
Fortunately, Clark was also relatively easy to redirect, most of the time. “How are you feeling? I still think we should have you checked by Dr. Stone.”    
  
Clark shifted and gave him a thoughtful look. “It’s not as bad as before. I mean, every now and then I still feel like jumping out of my skin. But I fly around the Earth about five times and it helps.” He laughed at the frown Bruce gave him. “Yeah, I know—but it used to take at least ten times. Why do you ask? You worried?” His tone was playful.  
  
“Just thinking about the team. You understand,” Bruce said casually.  
  
“Yeah, sure…” Clark shifted again, this time facing away from Bruce. “So, tomorrow I’m going to be stuck in Metropolis. I’m back at the Daily Planet on a per diem basis,” he said, just as casually.  
  
“I see. I’ll be at our downtown building for a board meeting that ends at 4:00 pm. Then the penthouse at Midtown around 4:15… I haven’t visited the penthouse since the remodeling finished six months ago. I hear the decorator did a great job.”  
  
“4:15,” Clark mumbled against the pillow before he fell asleep again.  
  
Bruce made it to the penthouse at 4:10. Seconds later, Clark zipped through the balcony doors. They kissed, grappled, lost clothes, and ground greedily against each other all the way to a nearby couch. They'd broken that couch by 4:20.  
  
When they finally finished, Bruce collapsed on top of Clark on the floor. They lay there together quietly, just breathing in unison.  
  
And then Clark shifted, and Bruce pushed himself up far enough to see him grin. “You weren’t kidding, the decorator did a great job. That gigantic lighting fixture looks like it’s defying gravity, and this rug is extremely soft. Is it hypoallergenic?”  
  
Bruce gave a low chuckle and rolled off Clark. He raised himself up on one elbow and considered the rug—and Clark. The rug _was_ soft, and hypoallergenic. Like the downy hair on Clark’s chest, Bruce decided absently. It was made by a designer in California famous for combining imported custom milled textiles and repurposed materials. The design was very Jackson Pollock—if Pollock had done rugs and shades of blue. _Blue eyes_. Clark’s eyes were difficult to match; they tended to land anywhere from sky blue to the shade of the Aegean Sea, depending on the lighting. This room had been meant to be airy yet warm, while keeping to Bruce’s strict minimalist aesthetic, and he had hated the idea of that rug, initially. He'd thought the very expensive reclaimed pine wood floors were fine. But after intense “negotiations”, which had included a fantastic blow job from the decorator on that same spot next to the couch, Bruce Wayne had been convinced easily enough. And now, he had to admit it added a touch of whimsy to an otherwise almost sterile room—and Clark was looking positively edible lounging on it, vivid blue eyes set off perfectly on top of miles of naked muscles.  
  
Yes, the rug had definitely been one of his better investments.  
  
“I have to be back downtown by 6:00,” Bruce announced, even though the trajectory of his gaze was directed to Clark’s already half-hard thick cock. Bruce himself wasn’t anywhere close to being hard so soon after coming, but that didn't mean he couldn't let a hand travel down Clark’s cock.

 He slowly rubbed the slit with his thumb, and Clark raised an eyebrow and twitched his hips against Bruce’s hand. “You want me to leave?”  
  
Bruce detected the teasing challenge in his voice. “Nah, we have time,” he said, feeling very much that he was master of his own universe. He could be late for cocktails with the board members, dammit. He deserved the break after a whole day with them.  
  
They somehow made it to the bedroom without tripping over each other—and, even more impressively, without Clark super-speeding them, either.  
  
By the time Bruce rolled over to grab his phone from the bedside table and check his messages, it was ten minutes after 7:00 pm. Well, there was no point in rushing now. He might as well check out the rest of the penthouse. He hadn’t even seen the kitchen yet, though he wasn’t worried; Alfred had had the kitchen and the bar stocked. Come to think of it, there were several rooms he hadn’t seen yet.  
  
At that moment, Clark came out of the bathroom in nothing but a dress shirt and boxer briefs that hugged the curves of his ass. _Bruce’s_ dress shirt—and it had never looked so good. Bruce appreciated the view as he leaned against the headboard, reaching past the phone for the tumbler of whiskey he'd left next to it and lazily swirling the drink. “There happens to be an underutilized kitchen and an equally underutilized formal dining room. I'm given to understand the decorator used some particularly clever dark wood paneling.”  
  
“Not really sure how wood paneling can be ‘clever’, but I can see your fridge from here. And you have an awesome-looking lasagna, a salad, and five different kinds of Italian pastry and ice cream. Plus a steak warming in the oven, along with some baked potatoes.”  
  
“The kitchen it is.”  
  
Clark polished off the rib-eye steak. Bruce had the vegetable lasagna. After that Bruce also had the cum off Clark’s cock, licking it with long slow laps. Clark had cracked the massive table when he came—and Bruce decided to consider the dining room officially… utilized.  
  
5.  
  
Bruce Wayne and a  majority of the other board members were gathered inside the Wayne Enterprises executive conference room in Paris; it was their quarterly meeting with the department heads of Wayne Industries Europe. While he listened to the product presentations, a part of him thought about Clark and how good he would look, naked and splayed against the dark oak of the conference table.

 It had been three weeks, and whatever had been going on between Clark and him was still going on. They were still fucking each other. And when they weren’t fucking each other, Clark wasn’t so bad either. He was never dull, and he tolerated Bruce's proclivities and idiosyncrasies without being a doormat. With their complicated double lives, this had advantages: no messy secrets, no fear of being outed to the world. Bruce had already prepared himself for the day when whatever was going on with Clark would run its course, and Clark would go back to Lois. Bruce would miss the sex, he couldn't deny that. But surely it was only a matter of time till he was going to be obsessed with another case, or something else would force another disagreement, or he'd do something too destructive or morally repugnant for Clark. One way or another, the novelty of all this would wear off. Team dynamics might be difficult for a while, but for Bruce the mission would always come first, and although the rest were still green, including Clark, he suspected it would be the same for them. Yet somehow, there was a part of Bruce that was glad this thing with Clark hadn’t ended yet.  
  
He sighed deeply, stared at his phone for one full minute, and then began texting—  
  
              — Hi.  
  
The response was immediate: — Hi.  
  
Bruce waited for more; he stared at his phone with an intensity he usually reserved for dismantling a ticking bomb. Eventually he shook his head and bit down a smile.  
  
           — Dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8. Wear something nice.  
  
Once again, the response was immediate: — Cool. C U  
  
Bruce just rolled his eyes.  
  
He flew back from Paris just in time for dinner. The place he picked was a bistro in one of those low-key, exclusive places tucked away in a quiet corner across Gotham Park. As they walked in, Bruce instinctively placed a proprietary hand on the small of Clark’s back; it wasn’t lost on him that the little gesture felt so natural to him, and that both of them looked so normal.  
  
The host immediately seated them in a private alcove. Around them nobody seemed to care that Bruce Wayne had just walked in; the amicable chatter of the other diners, the subdued lighting, the clink of silverware, and the smell of lamb roasting made Bruce relax despite himself. It had been a while since he'd been on a real date with someone he had more than a passing interest in. The way he saw it was that dating was mostly an elaborate prelude to sex. And it was a prelude he didn’t need—a suite and some room service was all most of his partners required. Bruce liked it that way: nobody had to pretend anything. If he did date, it was  usually some sort of subterfuge to obtain information, or to allow him to tail someone.  
  
The server took their orders. Bruce leaned back. Clark rested his chin lightly on his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wow, a real date with Bruce Wayne, playboy, billionaire…philanthropist.”  
  
“You know, I apologized to your mom. Told her the entire thing.”  
  
“Not your usual conversation starter, and something you could’ve mentioned a couple of weeks back, but I shouldn’t expect anything less from you. Go ahead.”  
  
Bruce was suddenly in the unusual position of feeling very awkward. “I just wanted you to hear that from me, personally.”  
  
“I can see that.” Clark smiled at him. “Mom told me. She also told me how you have this massive chip on your shoulder and that buying the bank was a little too much, but she wasn’t going to complain because it was the least you could do for putting her dear boy through all that. She had a lot more colorful things to say about you, too—which terrified me, ‘cause I've never heard my mom swear like that before.”  
  
“Well, we got that out of the way,” Bruce said. He'd been meaning to tell Clark that. He remembered how candid Martha had been during their conversation—candid enough to slap him and threaten him with a shotgun. He knew the only reason he'd walked out of there alive was because he'd sworn he would find a way to make it right.  
  
“Bruce, relax. Let’s just eat and drink and maybe talk about, you know, usual date stuff…like, so—how was your day?”  
  
“Paris was pleasant; Wayne Enterprises is close to acquiring Europe’s second biggest commercial satellite launch provider. As you know, I outbid Jeff Bezos six months ago for LexCorp’s space tech division. It’s all very exciting. How about you?”  
  
“I got a pair of sneakers and really nice suede loafers, on sale… at Amazon.”  
  
Bruce managed a smile while his thoughts raced. _Sneakers on sale. You shouldn’t be getting things on sale. I can give you everything… let me give you everything…. Holy fucking hell, I’m screwed…._ _  
_  
Clark snickered until he couldn’t help it anymore and started to laugh outright. Bruce joined in, and both of them were loud enough to get disapproving looks from other patrons.  
  
The bistro was, as usual, on point. The lamb chops—marinated in herbs and olive oil, then grilled just right—were at their tender, juicy best. Clark clearly liked his moussaka, too, digging eagerly into the layers of eggplant, potatoes, and spiced meat. Bruce took only a bite, eschewing a heavy meal; it gave him a chance to just lean back in his chair, savor his red wine, and watch Clark, who'd moved on to enjoying the last forkful of a divine Greek pastry filled with custard, cinnamon, and honey. Watching Clark put things in his mouth, especially things that made him lick his lips afterward, was becoming an extremely indulgent and decadent activity for Bruce—one that only led to more indulgent, decadent activity…  
  
_And is that your definition of 'everything,' Bruce?_ Bruce drank more of the wine.  
  
Clark knew Bruce was just staring. Slowly, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “See anything you like?”  
  
“Dessert.” Bruce pressed a firm hand between Clark’s thick thighs.  
  
“Oh, God, yes please.”  
  
Later on, Bruce showed Clark how super-speeding in an Aston Martin felt.

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  
1.  
  
It had been a long time since Clark had had to think about what it took for him to fly. Getting up in the air had always been the easiest part; trying to come down had been harder, and any sudden stops and starts in midair had been even harder. But the more he'd practiced, the better he'd gotten, and now flying was effortless. With a mere thought, he could push his speed to break the sound barrier.  
  
He left a sonic boom in his wake as he arrowed across the Pacific; the sun was low on the horizon. At his present speed, the sea was a sheet of blue with occasional smears of green and brown.  It would be dawn when he got home, and he’d actually have enough time to eat breakfast before one of Perry’s early morning meetings. He’d need to text Lois about their joint byline, and Bruce—  
  
Clark had a flash of something going very wrong followed by the worst headache he'd ever felt—not that he had a lot of basis for comparison. He'd lost sight of the sun, somehow, and the blue sheet under him was coming closer and closer before everything turned black.  
  
There was a strange sensation of being rocked gently before being enveloped by warmth. He woke to a figure hovering over him. He blinked, and a worried face came into focus. “Arthur?”  
  
“The one and only.” Arthur’s large figure stood over him. “Take it easy there. You’re safe.”    
  
“Where… what … what happened?” Clark rubbed his head. He could smell the sea and feel the soothing wind. Gingerly, he sat up, feeling Arthur’s anxious stare on him.  
  
“We're in my lighthouse in one of the Marshall Islands. You're lucky Dot and Toto saw you take that dive. You scared the hell out of them. They’re so used to seeing you fly all over the place with no problem. When you fell, they called me….”  
  
“Dot and Toto?  
  
Arthur actually smiled sheepishly. “Dorothy and Toto, my whales. And yeah, don’t worry, I called your boyfriend.”  
  
“My boyfriend?”  
  
“Bruce.”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend. I mean not—that way—”  
  
Arthur eye rolled. “Whatever. You should have seen how he went on and on about bringing you back. I mean, I get it. You’re really hot. If you ever get tired of Broody Bat, hit me up.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“You heard me.” Arthur smirked—and then glanced away. “Hang on, Dot wants to know how you’re doing. She’s Toto’s mom.” Arthur hurried out onto the spacious deck, holding his trident, and let out a series of clicks and whistles. Somewhere below them, Clark could hear the whales vocalizing in synchrony with Arthur’s sounds. “They’re happy you're okay, but they say—they say they know why you fell…” Arthur frowned, eyes turning opaque white as he concentrated.  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
Those disconcertingly pale eyes studied him for a moment. “Do you have any idea why this happened?”  
  
Clark could tell Arthur was being evasive, but it couldn't hurt to humor him. The Atlantean had helped him out, after all. “Not really. I was flying, and then I felt weird. It all happened so fast. I think I blacked out before I woke up here. Arthur, what—“  
  
They were interrupted by the opening guitar riff of Guns N’ Roses’ _Sweet Child O’ Mine_. “Sorry.” Arthur pulled his cellphone from his back pocket and looked at the screen. “Yup, speak of the devil. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even pick this up.” He pressed a button on the screen and then held the phone to his ear. “Speak,” he groused. He listened for a moment and then threw another wink at Clark. “Don’t get your bat-panties in a twist, he’s right here and he’s fine…. Uh-huh… of course I got there fast enough. Oh, you think the jet would’ve been faster? Well, listen here, you ass—”  
  
Clark grabbed the phone. “It’s okay, Arthur, I’ll talk to him,” he said quickly, and then, into the phone, “Hey there.”  
  
“What the hell happened? Has this ever happened before? Don’t move. Stay there. I’m twenty minutes out.”  
  
“Bruce, I’m fine. You don’t have to.”  
  
“You’re lucky this line is encrypted. No civilian names when discussing League business. I’ll be there. Stay put.”  
  
"So I’m League business now, Bruce? I don’t need this from you, I can take care of myself. Stop hovering! Geez, and they say I’m the one that can fly.”  
  
“Arthur called, and it's unusual—”  
  
“Yeah, Arthur calling you is unusual.”  
  
“You know what I mean. Maybe it has something to do with the Box. Look, how about this: stop being petty and just come back here, and I’ll have Dr. Stone check you over.”  
  
“Petty? I’ll come back when I want to. Bye, Bruce.”  
  
Arthur gave Clark an ‘I told you so' face. Clark sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Bruce gets to be a little bit too much sometimes. Thank you for your help—and thank Dot and Toto for me, too. I’m just gonna go now.”  
  
“Clark, wait. Dot said … I mean, I think you should sit down, bro. I just want to tell you, I just want to say I’m a friend and whatever’s going on, I’m here for you.”  
  
“Thanks, Arthur…I like you too. But right now, you’re making me nervous, what is it?”  
  
When he heard what Dot had "said", Clark's first impulse was to laugh. Really, Arthur’s whales making a diagnosis of his Kryptonian physiology was a little too much, even in this strange world. But Arthur’s serious mien stopped him, and after a moment he gave in and x-rayed himself and saw—what he saw.  
  
Clark didn't have to say anything; Arthur could tell Dot had been right just by looking at his face. It was hard to tell who was more seriously freaked out, him or Arthur.  
  
In the end, Arthur spoke first, as if a sudden realization had just struck him, “Holy fuck! Did Wayne have anything to do with this?”  
  
–––––––––––––––

  
He really felt fine, even if Arthur didn’t believe him. It would have made him feel worse if he'd stayed there. Hell, he pretty much just wanted to be alone right now.  
  
“Look, if you don’t want to wait for Bruce. I’ll take you home,” Arthur said.  
  
“Arthur, I’ll be fine. Trust me on this, please. I really need to be alone.”  
  
The stubborn Atlantean studied him for a long while, they both knew if Clark insisted there was really no way Arthur could stop him. He sighed. “Alright. Fine. But I’ll have Gus and his buddies keep an eye on you.”  
  
“Gus and his buddies?”  
  
“My ‘Flock of Seagulls’,” Arthur said with an easy smile pleased at the reference he made. Clark couldn’t help but smile too, relieving some of the tension he felt.  
  
So he flew out of there—after making Arthur promise not to tell anyone about what the whales had said. And not to hurt Bruce or toss him into the ocean if he showed up, for that matter.  
  
Ever since he'd come back from the dead, Clark had felt like he was walking on eggshells—like everything else was too fragile to touch, or maybe like he was.  Everything was too bright, too loud, and he was uncomfortably… too alive. He could still remember the day he died: the searing pain in his chest, Bruce’s uneven gasps, Lois’s screams, Doomsday’s roar; the orange slivers of dawn breaking through the black sky before everything went dark. His next memory had been a little too similar—something searing inside him, at first, and then a massive burst of heat, of life, that had supercharged every cell in his body. Or at least he knew now that that's what had been happening. At the time, it had felt like he was being immolated from within, before he saw light once again, the brightest he had ever known. What kind of creature was he? A creature that could come back from death, defying not only this world’s logic but also his own.  
  
And apparently that still wasn't enough. Talk about believing in six impossible things before breakfast. Alice in Wonderland had nothing on him.  
  
He needed a moment to regroup. The island of Kaua’i seemed like a good spot to stop. He lay down on the lush green grass right next to a cascading waterfall and stared at the clouds. Slowly, Clark filtered his senses. The grass was real; he could feel its prickly coolness, could feel an ant crawling on the tip of a blade right by his shoulder. He could hear the distinctive squeaky brakes of a 1992 Jeep Wrangler along the coastline, twenty miles away from him. He could pick out each single shade of gray on the feathers of a seagull circling fifty feet above. No doubt, that was Gus.  
  
The sun was just starting to rise. He could feel its warmth, each subtle degree as the temperature changed. He could see all the different wavelengths of light as it filtered through the clouds and fell toward him. And he could see this tiny thing, a clump of cells almost an inch long that looked like hardly anything. Inside him.  
  
The whales had known somehow; they'd figured it out as soon as they'd touched him. Arthur had said that the human race had no idea how sensitive and intelligent they were. And then Clark had x-rayed himself before his precipitous exit from the lighthouse, just to prove them wrong—and look how that had worked out. He was just relieved Arthur had been willing to give him space and hadn’t pressed him with questions.  
  
A life was growing inside him. The impossible had happened: he wasn't the only Kryptonian anymore.  
  
What the fuck was he going to do?  
  
2.  
  
The world wasn’t going to end just because he was pregnant. Panicking was a big no-no. There was Perry’s meeting, and his byline with Lois. Flying at supersonic speeds was only for emergencies in case he had an episode like that again. Carefully he climbed up to the highest atmosphere to soak up as much of the sun’s radiation. Perhaps, he needed more, he really was ‘eating’ for two now. After an hour, he arrowed towards the Grand Canyon and lifted a ten-ton boulder just to test his strength. Now he just had to make it through Perry’s meeting without freaking out.  
  
The message tone on the comm in his ear beeped once again. It warned of ten unacknowledged messages from Bruce. Clark chided himself for being somewhat unreasonable. The man was justifiably worried, his flying, super-powered friend (with benefits) had just taken an unexpected dive into the ocean.  
  
As soon as he whizzed into his apartment, he deactivated his suit and showered. Picking up his cell phone later, he thought of actually calling Bruce, at the last second, he decided to text him, because he reasoned– he really didn’t want to disturb someone as busy as Bruce or more truthfully, he was just going to wuss out from talking to him. Best strategy ever. He groaned softly as he punched buttons on his cell.  
  
             Sorry, I was a brat. Don’t worry. Just got back.  
  
             Come to the house. Now.  
  
Clark blinked at the terse message. He fought the urge to reply with something equally terse but that would just provoke Bruce more and make him go full Batman mode on him. Clark looked out the window and extended his vision all the way to Gotham, two hundred miles away. It was 11 o’clock in the morning, he could see Bruce pacing in his corner office at the 80th floor. Wearing a dark gray suit, he paused by the large window arms across his chest reminding Clark of how broad he was. Clark thought about what to tell Bruce– but was now very distracted at the sight of him looming over Gotham like that, his powerful body clad in a bespoke suit. Looking fierce and handsome with his lightly stubbled jawline and grey temples.  It took all of his willpower to not jump out of his clothes and speed to Gotham. Great, he scolded himself he was ‘fanboying’ nope actually stalking his boyfriend. Quickly, he pushed a button and hit SEND.  
  
Bruce Wayne surveyed his office. The CEO suite of Wayne Tower was subtly furnished with dark wood and enough art work to evoke tradition, stability and power with tasteful touches of contemporary pieces meant to convey dynamic growth and futurism. Other than the bat-cave this was the only other place Bruce felt his true power. Here, in the tallest building in Gotham, as he looked out from his floor to ceiling windows guarded by twin gargoyles that have watched over this building for 86 years. No matter if there were wars, an unstable economy, jokers, penguins, alien invasions ---there will always be a Wayne here at the center of the empire and right now it was him. Now, if Clark will just answer his damn text, so he can go on with his life.  
  
The text tone of his phone made him look down, he frowned at what Clark sent him. It was a kissy face emoji.  
  
  
3.  
  
The reporters for the Daily Planet were all in the conference room for Perry White’s mid- day editorial meeting separate from the early morning one. Perry would do a rundown of the major stories the Planet was working on— and sometimes, when he was in a mood, he would randomly call on anyone, even the junior staff, and ask them if they had story ideas. It was nerve-wracking; it brought back traumatic memories of having to speak at the general school assembly as a twelve-year-old, with hundreds of merciless judging eyes looking on.  
  
There was a quick summary of current events and who was covering what where, and then it happened.  
  
“Kent! What do you have for me?”  
  
Of course, of all days, Perry had to pick today to call on him. Clark cleared his throat and launched into his pitch, deciding he might as well just go for it. No matter what he said, he was sure Perry would find something to pick on and then make it into a freaking teaching moment. “It’s been almost four years since the events of Black Zero Day. There are a number of small businesses in the most heavily-affected areas that have stuck it out there, in the spirit of healing and recovery. I’ve written up a couple of profiles; one is for a daycare—Mrs. Ortiz and her staff evacuated 20 kids and kept them safe until each of them could be returned safely to their families. Three months after the event, she reopened even if she really didn't know how she could make rent. Another one is a veterinary hospital—Dr. Burns wrangled his way through the ruins of his neighborhood to evacuate all his animals, after his animals were safe he came back after a day to rescue lost pets. Right now, he is the only veterinary clinic below 15th street––”  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kent, do it! Kids and puppies!  Who doesn't like kids and puppies. Just run it by Lane before you make copy.”  
  
Clark couldn’t believe his ears. For once, there were no scathing put-downs. "Are you sure?” Well, the real question is: Perry are you okay?  
  
“Of course I’m sure! Ever since the invasion happened, people eat this stuff up. Big events seen through lived experiences, and all that jazz. And before any of the rest of you jokers get any ideas, I don’t want a bunch of stupid bleeding-heart stories ending up on my desk.” Awkward laughter rippled through the room.  
  
“Next—Johnson! It’s your turn to cover the mayor’s wife's garden club luncheon.”  
  
A timid “Yes, Mr. White,” came from the back.  
  
After another round of reporters, Perry once again looked like he was about to chew fifty antacid tablets. “Meeting’s done! Kids, please, for the love of the ever-loving Christ, make me proud and don’t get sued!”  
  
Everyone scampered off in different directions. Clark was the first one out of the conference room, but he didn't get far before Lois caught up. “Clark—Clark, are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine, Lo.”  
  
Lois looked at him, shook her head, and gently steered him into an empty conference room. “Are you sure?” she said, as soon as she closed the door behind them. “You look more worried than usual. I mean, you had Perry eating out of your hand and you still look miserable. What’s up?”  
  
He managed a faint smile, then shrugged. “It’s nothing. I guess I just have a lot on my mind—you know, coming back to work, coming back from the dead. The usual stuff.”  
  
“Fine. But you know you can talk to me. We’re friends, and I don’t want to lose that.”  
  
“Of course, Lo. Me too. Come here.”  
  
He hugged her tight. He hated lying to her, and he knew she could tell. Oh, what the hell—it was now or never. He held her even more tightly for a moment, mostly to calm himself, and then eased away and scanned the room. Maybe his paranoia was getting the better of him, but he really didn't want anyone else to hear this.  
  
“All right, Lo. First things first, we’re going to Kansas.”  
  
“That bad?”  
  
“Depends on what you consider bad. Hold on tight.”  
  
  
Clark had called ahead to let Martha know they were on their way. When Lois and Clark arrived at the farm, Martha managed to have coffee brewing and banana maple nut muffins baking in the oven. Being the mother of a son with a super appetite, Martha always had a batch of freshly-made dough in her fridge.  
  
They all sat down around the kitchen table. Martha noted how Lois’s hands curled protectively around Clark’s.  
  
“I really don’t know how to explain this.” Clark drew his hands free from Lois’s, and she looked up at him questioningly; his eyes were pleading for understanding. He'd wanted to spare her this, but they’d always promised to be honest to each other—he'd meant it then, and he still did, even if things were different now.  
  
Clark wrung his hands, afraid that if he touched anything other than himself, he'd break it. His mom leaned forward. “Honey, it’ll be okay. Just tell us, whatever it is.”  
  
“Okay. Mom, Lois, I think I may be pregnant.”  
  
There was the most pregnant of silences. Clark was relieved that least no one had laughed or assumed he was kidding. The oven dinged; its sound seemed to shake everyone out of the initial shock of his words. Martha, displaying the true fortitude of a mother who'd found an alien child and raised that child in secret for thirty-three years, stood up calmly and opened the oven door, the warm smell of caramelized nuts and bananas wafting out.  
  
“The muffins are done,” she said, after a long moment's examination of said muffins. “Clark, I think we should make some mac and cheese.”  
  
“That sounds great, Mom.” He stood up and started taking stuff out of the fridge.  
  
Lois bounced a look between them, momentarily puzzled, thinking she had missed something. She took a deep breath and decided to take her cue from Martha. “I’ll make more coffee.” She moved towards the coffee maker. “Clark, it might be a good idea to tell us everything.”  
  
In between mixing the pasta, three different cheeses, and milk, and then popping everything into the oven, Clark told them about the Mother Box and how he felt it might have played a part in all this. Then there was the expected round of “Are you sure?” questions.  
  
“To be honest, when you called me and told me you had news, and with both of you coming here … I wasn’t expecting this,” Martha said as she looked over at them. There was a note of wistfulness in her voice that pained Clark. He couldn’t exactly fault her; Martha liked Lois and always had. Lois had become the only other person that she could talk to about Clark, now that Jonathan was gone. Martha knew they had broken up, but a part of her still hoped that they’d get back together.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mom.”  
  
Martha looked across the table and shared a look with Lois, something unspoken passing between them. Martha let out another soft sigh, and then bit her lip to stifle a smile. “Clark, honey, I need to ask you one thing: did Bruce have anything to do with this?”  
                                                     –––––––––––––  
  
There was a point during the third or fourth round of embarrassing questions when Clark thought he might not make it out of Kansas alive. He'd initially decided to just skip over everything that involved Bruce, because those were the parts he couldn’t even make sense of himself—and he had a strong suspicion Bruce felt the same way. Yet somehow, between Martha's knowing stare and Lois’s persistent questions, Clark ended up admitting that he was—kind of, sort of, maybe—seeing Bruce Wayne.  
  
“Well, the way that man was going on and on about bringing you back, I had to ask,” Martha said as she slowly buttered her muffin.  
  
Clark almost dropped the tray of mac and cheese he'd just brought out of the oven.  
  
“It’s okay, honey, you didn’t know this was going to happen,” Martha teased, which ultimately made Clark feel worse.  
  
“Mom, it’s not like we know for sure he had anything to do with this,” Clark whined. He was pretty sure his face was already hotter than the oven.  
  
Martha huffed. “Dear, you did tell me that it took two people to make you.”  
  
“Oh my God! Mom!”  
  
Lois was trying to decide if she wanted another muffin or a helping of mac and cheese. “So, all that ‘I want to kill Superman bullshit’ was just some freaky foreplay.” She studied the pan of muffins and picked the one with the most nuts. “You have to admit the asshole has great taste. Sorry, Martha.” She said it in a way that made it pretty clear she wasn’t sorry at all, but Martha didn't seem to mind; she just hummed noncommittally as she poured herself some more coffee, and then gave Clark a look that clearly meant she agreed with Lois, much to Clark’s mortification.  
  
“Lois, I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry—”  
  
Lois waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be honest, it’s going to be weird. But I’m here for you, whatever you need. We'll get through this.” To emphasize her point, she reached across the table and squeezed Clark’s hand. Clark was grateful, but he wasn’t naïve either; he knew this had to sting for Lois in ways he could never imagine. But he also knew Lois wouldn’t say any of that if she didn’t mean it.  
  
“Are you gonna tell him?” Lois asked.  
  
“Tell him what? 'Hey, I’m pregnant with a strange alien baby that might or might not be yours' … yeah, I can see that going over well.”  
  
“Oh, Clark.” Martha said.  
  
In the end, they both hugged him. “The important thing is this baby. Your baby. Our baby.” Martha hugged him again as she blinked away tears. “I never thought I’d have a grandchild. Clark, honey, like I told you before, everything about you is a gift.”  
  
Clark found himself blinking back tears, too, as he buried his head in his mom’s shoulder once again, inhaling the comforting scent of her: vanilla, caramel, and Downy April Fresh fabric softener.  
  
Lois laughed as she dabbed a tissue against the corners of her eyes. “You’re so gonna ruin your abs.”  
  
“Very funny, Lois.”  
  
“What are you gonna do?”  
  
“I have a plan.”  
  
“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Martha said with one more hug, before she shoved a bag of food into Clark’s hand. “This is for you and Lois.” Lois looked like she was about to protest, but Martha shook her head. “You might not be together anymore, but I can still feed you both.”  
  
“Thanks, Martha.”  
  
Clark sighed deeply. “Come on. Let’s go home, Lo.”  
  
                                                        ––––––––––––  
  
Later, back in his apartment, he stepped out of the shower. He wiped the condensation off the mirror and sighed. “Hey there, how’s everything? Me? I’m fine … well, not really…I might be a little pregnant." He groaned softly and banged his head against the wall; bits and pieces of tile and plaster drifted to his feet. He exhaled forcefully. He'd been so close to getting the rhythm of his life back. And he was angry with himself, angry that he'd basically ignored all the warning signs after his so-called resurrection—how he'd felt different, the too-quick rush of his blood, the oversensitivity of his senses, his appetite for food and sex. Sex. Bruce. Shit. What will he do with Bruce?  
  
After he dressed, he wandered into his kitchen, still feeling lost. It wasn't quite dinnertime but the tray of mac and cheese that he'd brought back from Kansas beckoned from the table. Quickly he reheated the whole tray with his heat vision. It was a creamy, cheesy piece of gooey goodness topped with sinful bits of bacon, just the way Clark liked it; he relished each spoonful, happy for each blissful moment it gave. It was better than sex—or, well, not really, but it could give sex a good run for its money.  
                                     ____________

“Really? Now?” Lying on his stomach, Clark groaned into his comforter while grabbing a pillow to cover his head.

“I can’t be sure, but I think you’re avoiding me.” Bruce leaned against the wall next to the window.

Clark had been able to smell him before Bruce had actually set foot in his apartment. A scent detectable only by him: a distinct mix of titanium weave, Kevlar, gunpowder, sweat, and traces of blood. He glanced at Bruce to give him a quick scan with his enhanced vision; it wasn’t Bruce’s blood, to his relief, just spatters on the armor. Probably from some unfortunate crook who'd thought that he could take on Batman.

“Bruce, can we do this like normal people? Like, maybe 4 more hours from now?” Clark said. He really didn’t need to sleep, but he enjoyed doing it anyway. And right now, he could kick himself for not dealing with Bruce earlier, which could have prevented all of this.

“Clark, what’s going on? You fell into the ocean. And by the way, in case you haven’t noticed it all this time we’ve been fucking each other, I really don’t like being ignored.”

Clark blinked at him, still bleary-eyed. “Are you done with your patrol?”

“What? Yeah, but that’s not the point—” Bruce started but Clark was faster, and he was out of his bed and pressing his mouth against Bruce before Bruce could even blink. He could feel Bruce try to pull away. But he lifted up in the air ever so slightly, so he could cup Bruce’s face gently between the palms of his hands, tightening his mouth against Bruce’s, deepening the kiss. The tension in Bruce’s body shifted; he began kissing Clark back, fierce and hungry. His gauntleted hand dug under Clark's thin Smallville Crows shirt, grabbing Clark’s ample chest, squeezing and pinching a nipple—pulling a low, needy moan from Clark, even as his other hand was busy grabbing and kneading Clark’s hips and ass. The punishing pressure of the rough material over his bare skin made Clark grind his hips against Bruce’s codpiece, hungry for more friction.

Bruce pulled away from Clark, breathing hard. Clark could see the cold blue fire of Bruce’s glare under the cowl, and Bruce grasped him harder and turned them, pressing Clark’s back against the wall so savagely that it dented behind him. Bruce held him in place, his bone-breaking grip on Clark’s bare skin not easing.

Clark grinned at him. “You still feel ignored?”

“You’re going to pay for that,” Bruce growled through the voice modulator as he dragged Clark’s boxers down his hips. His hand toyed with Clark’s nipple, and then he slid down to his knees.

“With the cowl on? How kinky,” Clark said, before he gasped—Bruce was sucking his balls, licking the underside of his dick, gloved hands settling on his hip and cock. Suddenly, Clark felt dizzy at the sensation of moist heat and suction; the feel of Bruce’s stubble scraping against the sensitive skin between his balls and cock threatened to overload his senses then there was the rub of the smooth edge of the cowl. _Heat...suction...rough...smooth_...again and again... again. The bastard scoffed below him, blatantly aware of what he was doing to Clark. “You did say you were _super_ sensitive…” Bruce licked his slit before manhandling him onto the bed and pulling off his shirt and boxers.

“Not fair, you’re still dressed.” Clark wriggled under Bruce—it was too much. Bruce was mouthing his cock now, focused and relentless, swallowing him down to the root.“Jesus, Bruce!”

Clark’s eyes rolled back in his head as he closed them and arched up into the hot suction of Bruce’s mouth; he held onto the sheets as he fucked Bruce’s mouth, not trusting himself not to tear Bruce out of the Bat-suit. He was so close, hips rolling as his orgasm built—but then Bruce pulled his mouth away, and with it, the wondrous hot suction, causing Clark to let a deep protesting groan slip free. The cool air felt like a slap on his wet and aching dick.

The still-suited Bat loomed over Clark. “I think I’m just going to leave you like this.” The mattress moved under Bruce’s weight as he slid off the bed.

“If you’re keeping that suit on, you might as well. I don’t think even Batman can fuck through Kevlar,” Clark countered, hands under his head, ever so casual, knowing he was really infuriating Bruce. He heard the slide of Kevlar and titanium weave against skin, and the sound of a tube falling to the floor. Bruce was now kneeling in between his thighs. He was the one with superspeed, but sometimes he still found himself wondering how Bruce could move so fast.

Clark’s legs were pushed back; Bruce focused and fierce in between his thighs, cock nudging against his hole. And Clark swallowed, anticipation prickling through his bodylike pinpoints of lightning. He was horny as hell and he knew he was getting under Bruce’s skin, just from the way he was holding Clark––the possessive roughness, that he'd moved so quickly to claim Clark like this. But a part of Clark was debating if he should tell Bruce…because… _Bruce_ … _Christ_ … Bruce was sliding in, huge, hot, and deep; filling him, giving him exactly what he needed right now, and in a moment all thought had been overwhelmed.

Clark groaned and trembled. The pressure inside him was on the border between pain and pleasure. Bruce pulled back slowly, and the drag of his thick cock spiked heat all the way up Clark's spine.

“You okay?” Bruce paused, concerned. And Clark felt his head clear: he could see Bruce’s cool blue eyes, his handsome face, his pepper-gray hair—mussed up from the cowl, sticking out every which way, but somehow that only made Clark want him more.

“I’m fine. Never better. I want more.” Clark bit his lip and smiled. He wanted to reassure Bruce to just go on; because he needed this, and because after this moment—after he told Bruce—everything would be different.

Bruce exhaled. Clark could feel whatever had been wound up inside him gradually uncoil. And then Bruce deliberately, slowly pulled back, and Clark could feel that spectacular cock dragging inside him, firing up each and every nerve. Then Bruce began to move, thrusting in and out of Clark in a fast, relentless rhythm. Clark took everything that Bruce gave him: hard, deep strokes that pushed the air out of his lungs, slow ones that teased him to the edge of his sanity; the sound of Bruce’s flesh slapping against his; the loud grunts and moans. Then there was the heady smell of their need and sweat, Bruce’s sweat and—and his _own_ sweat.

 _He was sweating!_ A fact which would have alarmed Clark, if he weren't feeling so heady, so _alive_.

Clark grabbed Bruce’s ass and spread his legs wider, wanting him deeper. This seemed to drive Bruce to a breaking point, because his thrusts became harder and faster, and then, with a strangled cry, he came inside Clark. Bruce’s cock twitched hard in his ass, and the feeling of Bruce like that, inside him, pulsing, filling him with white-hot heat, made Clark just lose it. He came, groaning and clinging against Bruce, shuddering, his cock pulsing against Bruce’s thigh, shooting his load all over their stomachs and chests.

Bruce collapsed in the space next to him. They both lay there, just breathing heavily. Bruce’s hot hand had landed on Clark's belly, fingers idly stroking his skin. Clark felt wonderfully spent and blissed out, something very new for him. He relaxed into the sensation, immersing himself in the reality of it: the soreness of being stretched out and well fucked, the unfamiliar yet welcome ache where Bruce had gripped him so hard.

But it could only last so long, Clark rolled to one side and picked up his shirt from the floor, cleaning himself with it before tossing it back and retrieving his boxers.

“So, are you done with your patrol?” Clark yawned as he put on his boxers.

“Why are you asking? Do you want me to go back on patrol? What’s going on, Clark?"  Bruce was lying on his side, naked, watching Clark with a calculating glare.

“All right, Socrates, I can do this all day, but I’d _rather_ go back to sleep and cuddle with my sugar daddy. But if you have other plans, feel free to do whatever,” Clark said blithely. In truth, he was really hoping Bruce would just go; he didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to deal with the inevitable cascade of questions that would follow if they started talking right now, no matter how impossibly hot Bruce was looking or guilty he was feeling.

So, with that, Clark pulled the comforter over his shoulders, facing the wall. He was acutely aware that in the silence between them, the gears in Bruce’s head were  undoubtedly working overtime—he probably had the answer already percolating in his head, and he was just waiting for Clark to break down and admit everything. Or maybe he'd interrogated Arthur, and Arthur had slipped and just spilled everything to him. This was turning into a special sort of torture.  Maybe Clark should just—

He felt Bruce curl around him from behind, big body pressed tightly against his back, arms surrounding him, strong and secure. Despite himself, Clark relaxed into him, falling toward the edge of sleep in Bruce’s embrace.

Then Bruce spoke. “Are we okay, Clark?”

The only thing Clark could do was pretend not to hear him.

Clark woke up to his alarm clock screaming at him. 6 am. The space next to him was empty. Bruce had left. He felt relieved, and yet a part of him was disappointed. He sighed deeply; he knew he was going to have to deal with Bruce sooner rather than later. Still, he'd had the most restful sleep, despite everything. He examined himself; okay, he was still very much pregnant. On his hips he could see bruises had formed. Where had he gotten them? Then he remembered how Bruce had held him when they fucked last night.

The text alert on his phone went off; there was a text from Lois asking him to check in with her, a voicemail from his mom and of course there was a text from Bruce:

        ––– I saw the bruises. When you're ready to tell me what’s going on, you know where  to find me.

4.

The idea stewed in his head for three days since he last saw Bruce. He held the S shield on his hand, felt the familiar thrum of the energy it contained. He always marvelled at how his genes was keyed into how it functioned so fluidly. Though, Earth was his world it could not be denied he came from a world that was able to do this. And maybe it was time to see if the world he came from could give him answers.

The Kryptonian ship surrounded by the STAR lab’s structures resembled a gigantic phosphorescent cephalod at 2am in the morning. The ship that his people once used for exploration and terraforming. It sat in the middle of the city, surrounded by the lab that the US government had built around it. Clark studied the hole in the hull from up high under cloud cover. To his relief it was only closed with a tarp. He zipped in undetected and quickly replaced the tarp, so it would look undisturbed.  One of his first memories when he woke up was shooting up through the hull as he felt the surge of power within him. As he wandered through its alien halls, he remembered when his father, Jor-El, first spoke to him and told him who he was and where he came from.

  
He came upon Genesis Chamber and stared at the murky pool. Clark couldn’t help but replay the time when Doomsday was made. The strong odor of burnt metal combined with the miasma of charred flesh and blood flooded his senses then, today it was quiet and cold. The silent robot sentries floated above the pool of fluid. The alien tentacles of the chamber lay dormant, deep in its depths. The entire space was entirely devoid of any odor with the outside air carefully filtered by STAR labs’ systems before it was pumped through.

 

He could use some answers right now. Since its crashed in Metropolis the only access to the ship has only been through the Genesis Chamber itself. Clark wandered over to the end of one of the dull gray arteries that crisscrossed the ship that ended in a wall. He remembered that this corridor was supposed to open to the science ward he was held in when Zod arrived. Clark figured that STAR lab’s scientists still have been unable to gain access to certain parts of the ship.

The desperate wish to find answers made him place a palm on the wall, he hoped he could find a hidden mechanism that could open a door in the absence of the key his father had given him. To his surprise the surface under his hand began to thrum then the door slid back. The door opened into a large chamber with the same ribbed walls as the rest of the ship, but this one was not drab and gray. The walls glowed as if lit from within. A large console was in the center, flanked by a pair of robots, their appearance similar to the robot sentry that attacked him when he first entered the scout ship more than two years ago. They seem to be as inert as the rest of the ship. The pair of robots were levitating two feet above the floor but otherwise both gave no indication of being aware of him.

“Hello?” He called out, feeling a little ridiculous. How does on activate an alien ship? Maybe he could put his hand again somewhere…

“Here goes nothing.” He placed a palm on the consul and to his relief a three- dimensional display made of liquid geomatrix crystals configured in front of him forming into his sigil. Somehow the ship still ‘remembered’ him. Kryptonian script began appearing below the sigil. He could read it when he spent time with his Father, Jor-El ‘woke’ those genes. His learning Jor-El theorized was hyper accelerated because of the yellow sun. More than ever Clark was grateful that knowledge of Kryptonian language was passed on through his genes, this was an imperative engineered through centuries of genetic manipulation– his Father said it was necessity brought about by a time when Kryptonians colonized far off planets.

He needed answers, if he was ever going to survive this. For him and his child. It was really weird to think of _it_ , as _his_ child. He sighed deeply, he thought of his mother carrying him in her belly and how his was the first natural birth in Krypton for ages. Krypton had resorted to using Genesis Chambers to birth every single Kryptonian, allowing for complete control of each genetic makeup. Yet he knew his cells were different from any Kryptonian that ever existed, within his cells his was the Codex. The Codex contained the genotypes of future generation of Kryptonians, his Father hid it in his cells till the right time came for Krypton to be reborn.

Was that now? Did his Father had any idea this was going to happen to him?

“I need answers. Something is happening to me. Please.” He spoke out loud.

Nothing answered him back save for the soft echo of his voice within the chamber. Maybe the damage to the ship was far worse than he thought, perhaps when it crashed it destroyed the AI, all the data, his family’s memories, his heritage.

While he stood trying to figure out what else he could do, he heard whirring behind him. One of the robots had woken up and started floating towards him, a red beam shone from its rectangular chest and scanned him. Clark watched it cautiously, the last time a robot servitor scanned him like that, it lashed out with tentacles, Clark could still remember the wound it was able to inflict on him.

Then it spoke. “Sir, your genetic code identifies you are of the House of El. I am Kelor, your robot servitor, programmed from the same memory matrix from the Kelor servitor that has always served the House of El. How can I be of service?”

“Robot servitor?”

“Yes, Master. All the ruling houses were equipped with robot servitors of their own unique design. Before his death your father was the Head of the Science Guild– the House of El.”

 _Friendly_ . Clark was relieved that he didn’t have to fight anything for once in this ship, but what happened to his Father’s consciousness? He asked the robot.

“General Zod purged all data of the House of El. Unbeknownst to him, the key from your Ship contained a contingency program your Mother– Lara Lor-Van created, it hid deep beneath the ship’s systems that can only be accessed by your genetic code. Due to extensive damage to the ship data matrix “Jor-El” could not be recovered at this time. Sir, even so, I can still be of assistance.”

Clark quietly thanked his Mother. His parents did what they could to take care of their son, a wave of sadness hit him.

“Something is happening to me…help me understand,” he said very uncertain if Kelor would be able to give him answers.

The center of Kelor’s body lit up again with a red glow, a steady hum also emanated from the robot. After a moment, “Sir, please clarify.”

Clark’s heart sank, then he recalled his conversation with Jor-El. He had to ask the right questions.

“Can you check me? See if everything is… normal?” _Ughh_ .

“Sir, you require a complete scan. If you can please lie down here.” The robot floated to the middle of the chamber. A short pillar composed of silver liquid crystals grew from the floor. The silvery substance, Clark remembered from his Father’s lessons was an essential component of Kryptonian technology. Liquid tetrahedron crystals suspended in a magnetic field. The nanite rich liquid matrix quickly reconfigured itself to a narrow table.  
Clark eyed the table with trepidation, the last time he was here he was helpless, tied down while mad man from his own planet was trying to annihilate the Earth. The robot hovered next to him expectantly. After another moments’ hesitation, he pressed the shield on his chest and his cape retracted. “Promise not to hurt me,” he said half-jokingly.

“Kal- El, no harm will come to you.” The robot replied. It was a little unexpected, but it was somewhat comforting.  
He laid down expecting its surface to be cold and hard.  Clark was somewhat relieved to find it wasn’t cold but soothingly cool then as he settled down he felt the surface of the table undulate in slow waves beneath him, followed by a steady pulsation that moved from his midsection all the way to his extremities. It wasn’t unpleasant just weird. Clark shifted uneasily hoping the whole process won’t take long.

After five minutes the servitor, spoke. “Sir, scans are complete.”

Relieved, Clark got up quickly. The servitor floated back to the main console, Clark followed him.

On the magnetic field that served as a display consul, the liquid crystal material began to pixelate into a three-dimensional rendering of his body. Kryptonian writing rippled across it, he knew that the liquid matrix could be read both visually and through tactile manipulation. Each glyph provided haptic feedback that can access more data if need be.

Clark noticed his lower abdomen was glowing red on the display. That could not be a good sign.

“Why is this red? What does it mean?”

“Kal-El, you are functioning well above capacity. Your cells continue to flourish under this world’s yellow sun. Though gestating males is not within normal parameters your body is compensating, adequately.”  

“How did this happen?” He asked. Clark could read the data, but he liked listening to Kelor, the robot’s, feminine voice was soothing somehow.

Kelor remained still, Clark waited. Maybe it’s still thinking, he thought. Recovering more data or something.

The servitor began to float closer to the consul. A rendering of the Mother Box appeared midair. Kelor started speaking again, “Your cells have been altered by the yellow sun, when the Mother Box revived you in the nutrient rich Genesis Chamber, it did not only push your cells to evolve to contain the energy infused, it also triggered the Codex bonded within your cells, changing then accelerating the reproductive capabilities of your body.”

“This is awkward. It is Jor-El’s spawn.”

Clark swung around quickly, he _knew_ that voice! He was surprised when suddenly a hologram similar to his father’s appeared beside him, but it wasn’t his father. Not knowing what to say, he spoke in Kryptonian.

The image had the audacity to arch an eyebrow. “Did you just swear at me? Did you learn that from Jor-El? And please, speak English. Your Kryptonian is terrible to my ears and I don’t even have ears.”

“You’re dead! How?” Zod was here!

“And so is your father, before that he uploaded his consciousness into the Ship. Despite what I think of Jor-El, the man had some worthwhile ideas. When I purged Jor-El, I reprogrammed the ship. I knew I was going to go to war with you. In the miniscule possibility that you might defeat me, I needed to leave something of myself to guide my followers.”

“I will rid this ship, _my_ ship of you.”

“You do what you must. You will lose a valuable resource. Ship’s memory matrix indicates that you bested me in fair combat. And one of those humans you so love perverted my body to an abomination. Examine the computers and you will see I am but an echo of my true self, Jor- El had years to plan and execute this while I had mere minutes to do the same. But I do know you are the last Kryptonian. As much as I detest it, _you_ are Krypton now. And it is my purpose to protect Krypton. And besides you might learn something from me, things Jor-El can never teach you.

“I’m supposed to be in charge here. How can I let you stay, you murdered my father and tried to kill an entire planet?”

“Ship, can you tell him I’m as impotent as his father was.”

“Ship?” Clark said, surprised.

“The primary system that runs everything.” Zod said haughtily. “Has your father not taught you anything except the worthless drivel about being a bridge between two worlds?”

“Are you serious?”

“Kal-El, Zod speaks the truth he is incapable of inflicting damage on your person.” Another voice, soothing, feminine. The voice was everywhere and nowhere. Clark remembered her from the Chamber.

“Why are you all here now?”

“When the Mother Box restored you. It restored this ship to 45% percent. But we needed you and now you are here Son of Jor and Lara of the House of El, the last of Krypton. We are honored and celebrate your return.” Ship sounded pleased. A twinge of sadness started in Clark’s chest. How could he have left them alone for more than two years to be prodded and taken apart by scientists?

“Let me see, you just had Kelor analyze you. What’s this?” Zod’s image was quiet for moment. “Did you rut with the savages?

“That’s none of your business who I … rut with.” Clark resented the hologram’s disgusted tones.

“I am not giving this child a lesson about how offsprings are produced. This is your job Ship!”

“It matters not who you rut with.” Came Ship’s almost admonishing voice. More data scrolled across the display field. “Do you understand what happened and what is happening within you?”

“I do.” He understood the biology of it, his brain caught up easily. It didn’t mean he still wasn’t freaked out.

“And how long will I …gestate?”

“The normal period of gestation among the average Kryptonian would last 10 of your Earth months. However, your cells have been nourished by a yellow sun. The recent energy transfer from the Mother Box also altered you. It can be postulated that the gestation period would be 3 to 5 of your Earth months.”

“What!?! I don’t even look pregnant. That’s too fast! How is that possible?”

“Kal-el hyper-development of the cells within you have started. To accurately determine its rate of growth I must examine all data related to previous Krytptonian natural births against how your own unique cells. I understand your anxiety, please be aware that a Kelor servitor assisted during your birth. This servitor has the data and skills necessary to assist you when it is your time.”

 _A robot mid-wife_ . _This just gets better and better._ He might as well ask ‘the question’, now. “I don’t have …anatomy to do… this.” Among other things, Clark thought. An unwelcome image of that scene in _Aliens_ came to mind, a thing chewing its way out of his belly, slowly and painfully while he was powerless to stop it… he suddenly felt the need to X-ray himself because of that.

“If you wish I can show you the sequence of events when the gestation is complete, how your body will – ”

“No!” Clark shuddered at the idea. The robot noticed.

“Are you well, Sir. I will adjust the temperature.”  
  
“Holy shit!”

Clark spun around, Victor stood by the door of the chamber and judging from what Clark could see from the human side of his face he knew Victor heard and saw everything. Clark was so focused that he didn’t even hear Victor approach, hell he could’ve had a whole town of people behind and probably he still wouldn’t have noticed, he berated himself.

“Oh, and you have visitors,” Zod said. Program or not he was sure this time Zod was mocking him.

“Warning next time,” he said turning to Zod. “I thought you were a military program.”

“You’re the one with the enhanced senses. Remember Ship is only at 45% capacity. We can’t do everything for you, Kal-El.”

“What Zod means,” Ship said. “Because we are not full capacity certain subroutines are either missing or incomplete. This cybertronic being is of the Mother Box, we could not delineate its parameters. We apologize Kal-El, we will update security parameters as soon as we are able. If you wish Kal-El we can power down the Zod matrix till we are at full capacity.”

“Ship!” Zod protested.

This was a little overwhelming, Clark thought. He just came to find answers but instead found this weirdly bickering family… AI family.

“I will make a note of your requirements Kal-El.”  Clark could still feel Zod mocking him. _Great add this to my long list of things I have to deal with. So, how’s your Tuesday everyone?_ _  
  
_

“Ship! Please suspend all Zod programs.” Best to be safe Clark wasn’t sure yet if he can be trusted even with his promise to protect the last Kryptonian.

“Yes, Sir!”

Zod’s face seemed resentful as it faded from his view.

Cyborg cleared his throat. “I come here sometimes, because I don’t really sleep. I saw the chamber was open. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… Clark is it true?”

“Yes.” Clark answered, resigned. Next to him, Kelor’s eyes became red hot, Clark could hear more whirring sounds. A beam shot out of Kelor’s eyes, which Victor blocked with his shield.

“Kelor, stop! They’re friends.” Clark yelled.

The robot servitor immediately powered down.  Victor lowered his arm shield slowly. “I guess he’s yours?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”

Before Victor had a chance to answer, something red whizzed behind him and stopped between them. Clark groaned.

‘Hey Vic!” Barry greeted.

Clark could feel Kelor about to fire again.  He stopped him.

Victor’s red eye glared at Barry, “Why are you here?”

“I was lonely. I thought maybe we could watch movies again. You said you weren’t busy. And I bought pizza you know to make up for not inviting you from the last time. But now it’s just half a pizza …I got really hungry on the trip here… Hey Supes… man … woah…where are we. Wait this wasn’t here before … this was here? You opened this chamber. Vic told me they’ve been trying to open this in like forever.”

Of course, he sped in front of the monitors, where the Clark’s image was still spinning in all of its realistic three dimensional glory.

“Flash! Get away from there,” Victor yelled ineffectually.

Everything was just spiraling out of control now. Clark felt like he was hurtling uncontrollably through space in hypersonic speed about to hit some really big rocks in the Grand Canyon powerless to stop himself. He was gonna live but man, it was going to hurt really, really bad.

 

“Look, its Supes body. And what is that? Holy shit is that what I think it is?!? You’re pregnant! Is that why you’re hungry all the time… Wait but you’re a guy … do guy Kryptonians have babies?”

“Not really. I don’t know anymore.” Clark answered, feeling just a little too tired of everything, he watched as Barry examined the room with unbridled curiosity. After Black Zero, Clark thought he could just move on, his ship would be in government hands. He never thought that anything here would be used to hurt him especially kill him. But now things were different, contained here was the sum total of all things Kryptonian. Now it wasn’t about him trying to run from his past hoping it will make things better. His child deserved this too, to learn things only this Ship could teach him. He came to a decision, even as he remembered Martha’s warning. And Bruce would be so mad.

“Guys, I need to move my ship. Away from here.” He looked at both of them intently before continuing. “For the baby.” Clark felt slightly guilty about the last part.

“Sure, Supes, not a problem …. We’ll help you out … right Vic… we’re helping him out …” Barry slapped a playful hand on Victor’s cyborg shoulder.

“Victor.” Clark said earnestly, “I need the Mother Box to power the core.” He knew he was asking Victor to go against his Dad, against the lab, against the government but he had no other choice.

“Diana will kill me. Not to mention Bruce and Arthur. But Arthur already thinks the worse of me, so I don’t care. Then there’s my Dad. But Diana will really kill me…”

“Victor…please.”

Victor suddenly felt that it would now be extremely douchey if he didn’t help a pregnant Superman out.

 “Well, I’m half dead already. Why not.”

Barry smiled, “And I wouldn’t worry about Arthur, he’s right outside. I saw him on my way in. I guess the big guy has been watching you.”

Clark felt another twinge of guilt inside him. He had recruited Arthur– the only other person who knew about his pregnancy– to help him take the ship just in case there were problems.

Suddenly, Barry’s face lit up. “Wait, did Arthur have anything to do with this? Cause you know he’s part fish, he was in that pool with you.  Or… whoa… was it Bruce?”

Clark placed his arms across his chest, trying to muster as much dignity as he could as he could even though he could feel the heat on his cheeks, “I’m not answering that.”

“Wow, life found a way.” Barry couldn’t help himself and he knew it.

This time Clark just buried his face in his hands. .

“Jurassic Park. So, not the time, but so true.” Cyborg chuckled, and fist bumped Barry.

“I find the time.”

 

                                                                                                                             –––––––––––––

 

They powered the core with the motherbox. Barry, with his super speed removed all STAR lab’s equipment; plucked disoriented scientists and janitors working at that late hour off from where they sat or stood then deposited them a mile away. Victor spoke to his Father, Dr. Stone resented the thought of losing what he considered the most important scientific find in human history. He only agreed with the plan because he saw how important it was to Victor and besides he was pragmatic enough to realize he could not really stop them even if he wanted to.

 

The additional boost from the mother box rebooted the stealth functions and the ship’s AI was able to successfully navigate the craft away from Metropolis undetected by any radar and satellite arrays. The AI determined that the water below the Beyer ice shelf was the most ideal place to hide the ship. This ice shelf was the most remote in Antarctica, its hostile environments unreachable; with temperatures as low as -80 degrees C.

 

Barry sped through Metropolis on a route out of the city to his own. Something caught Barry’s foot as soon he slowed down at a late night hotdog stand to grab a snack, he tripped headlong, almost knocking out the stand until his momentum was slowed down by a lasso around his waist. He spun in an attempt to get loose, Diana placed a hand on his chest so he wouldn't plow into her.

 

“Flash, you really need to work on your balance. In the meantime, can you please explain what the rest of you just did.”

                         

                                                                                                                             –––––––––––––––

  
Bruce hated the sewers. Sewers, by their very nature, made pursuits extremely difficult. Gotham sewers were not only disgusting, they were endless, providing Killer Croc unrestricted access to wherever he wanted to go. And this particular sewer was full of toxic aerosols that had forced Bruce to wear a portable respirator.  
  
Killer Croc had been set free by an idiotic group of criminals who'd wanted to make a name for their group by hiring the atavistic creature. But the whole thing had backfired on them when Croc ate most of their members instead. After wading through the results of Croc’s carnage, Bruce had to slog through a flooded section with chest-deep water and stomach-churning detritus; but at long last, he finally tracked Croc down in the sewer systems under the abandoned Adam’s Brewery.  
  
He paused with Croc still a bend ahead to review his strategy. The key to beating Killer Croc had always been to neutralize him quickly and avoid any prolonged confrontation. The HUD display for the tracker abruptly changed color: Killer Croc was right behind the large steel pipe in front of Bruce.    
  
The massive clawed hand nearly got Bruce by the neck. He lunged out of the way, Croc missing by a hair, then threw an electrified batarang. Usually one was enough to knock out an enemy—but because of Croc’s physiology, the batarang only stunned him briefly. Still, it should be enough time to shoot him with a tranq dart, which would take effect within ten seconds. If Bruce didn’t miss.  
  
And he didn't. But the dart hit Croc in the side of the neck, not the thinner skin under his chin. It still sank in, the area free of any particularly thick scales, but it would be slower to take effect.  
  
Bruce aimed the tranq gun for a second shot as he avoided another swipe of Croc’s claws. But before he could deploy the dart, the ground above him shook. For a moment he thought Killer Croc had caused it—but Croc looked just as surprised as Bruce was. Bruce barely had enough time to avoid the small avalanche of debris and asphalt coming down from the street just above him, and he hadn't even completed the motion when Killer Croc was pulled in one quick violent jerk up through the brand-new hole.    
  
Bruce quickly shot a grapple gun upwards, intent on following whoever had just taken Croc. As soon as he was out, he was prepared to fire a flash-bang grenade; and then he saw Croc on the ground, unconscious, bound by a golden lasso.

  
“Was that truly necessary? Does property damage mean nothing to you?” He found himself now standing at the edge of a gaping five-foot-wide hole in the street between the brewery buildings.  
  
Diana arched a brow at him. “Property damage.” She scoffed. “Look, it is done. He will be returned to Arkham in no time.”  
  
“Why are you even here?” Bruce demanded. There were rules about them being in Gotham. Most importantly, there were rules against interfering. This had been clearly discussed and agreed upon during the League's first meeting.  
  
And yet it wasn’t just Diana standing in front of him; she was flanked by Barry and Arthur.  
  
“Sorry, boss, none of us were going down there. Well, you know how I always trip. And I really didn’t want to trip into that—” Barry’s non-answer answer raised Bruce’s hackles even more.  
  
“Don’t look at me, just because that’s water down there. Sewers. Never my department. And you seemed to be having a lot of fun going after this… thing,” Arthur added, which further irritated Bruce.  
  
With an effort, Bruce kept his temper in check. He briefly considered “accidentally” shooting Arthur, but luckily for everyone, Croc was stirring on the ground, starting to come to. Bruce shot him instead, three max doses of the tranq in rapid succession.  
  
Diana shook her head. “This being has the stench of death and many, many foul things. Has never known acceptance, much less love; always feared and reviled, an animal tortured with wounds deep and beyond healing. Batman, have you ever thought of being more merciful.” She turned her gaze at Bruce, he could see in her eyes what kind of mercy she meant.  
  
Bruce faced the three metahumans before him. “No. Never.” Bruce said simply, painfully aware that if Diana disagreed with him there was little he could do at that point.    
  
She gave a small sad sigh before speaking again, her tone brooking no argument. “Once he is secured, we need to meet.”  
  
–––––––––––––––––  
  
Quietly, Bruce watched Diana, Arthur and Barry file into the hangar. The hangar was now the de facto League headquarters. As he looked at all these meta-humans before him, once again he wondered if it was such a good idea to have all of them in his city.  
  
They all gathered around once again around the table. This time nobody sat down except Arthur who had the audacity to sit on Alfred’s work table.  
  
“So, who wants to tell me how Clark absconded with the ship? Or why?”  
  
The only reaction he got was another arched brow from Diana.  
  
“I have been updated on our way here.” Bruce answered Diana’s unspoken question.  
  
“Bruce, it’s technically Clark’s ship. Wouldn’t it be better if an actual Kryptonian had it?” Diana reasoned.  
  
“Something that would have been better 2 years ago.” Bruce retorted.  
  
“Maybe, he couldn’t do it two years ago,” This time Barry answered.  
  
“What do you know?”  
  
Barry was still for a moment just staring at him before he said anything.“Nothing, maybe it was too damaged two years ago. Maybe it needed ––”  
  
“Maybe–” Diana interjected. “ _We_ should leave the explanations for Clark.”  
  
“Stop me if I’m wrong.” Bruce said evenly. “Clark woke up this morning and suddenly decided to take back his ship. And since the Mother Box fixed Clark it would stand to reason he thought it would fix the ship too. And now Cyborg is with him stealing US government property. What is the point of all this then”– he gave a futile gesture. “We are supposed to be a team.”  
  
“We’re falling apart.” Arthur said.  
  
“Wow, you’re quick.” Bruce scoffed.  
  
Arthur shrugged, “Whatever.”  
  
“We _are_ a team.” Cyborg appeared, powering down to a landing beside him while Clark hovered mid- air. “Team mates are supposed to have each other’s back.”  
  
“I wish it was that simple. Why did you do it, Clark?" Bruce asked the quiet betrayed tone in his voice was unmistakable.

  
Clark looked around the room, then intently into Bruce’s eyes, “Bruce that ship is the only thing I have on Krypton. It was a mistake to just leave it there. Doomsday proved it. I will take responsibility, for whatever fallout will happen. I’m not the only Kryptonian anymore Bruce and because of that I need my ship back.” His hand came up his abdomen protectively.  
  
For the first time in a long time Bruce doubted what he understood. He was seldom wrong. But Clark just told him–  
  
“It appears I’m pregnant.”  
  
“Where’s the ship now? Wait why am I even asking,” he turned towards Arthur and Diana. “You both helped him.”  
  
“It’s safe.” Clark said.

“And before anyone asks me if I heard what Clark just said. Yes, I did. How…” Bruce went on when no one said a word. “It doesn’t matter what you did, why you did it, it is still irresponsible. Accountability is a very real thing for the League especially right now. You destroyed the fragile trust people have on us. Superman goes rogue. Not only that, the rest of you were spotted near the Kryptonian ship before it disappeared. What you did just proved all their fears.” 

  
“I did not go rogue. Wait, why am I defending myself. I’ve heard you go on and on about being responsible of being accountable but what about you Batman? Nobody ever gets to lecture you about accountability!  In everything you did, you had a choice and you choose to kill me… you almost did– ”  
  
“What’s the point! What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for trying to kill you! I’m even sorry for this… whatever is going on? Jesus! Clark! This is insane! You are not yourself….ever since the Mother Box–”

Flash had the OMG Mom and Dad are arguing look, “Guys… maybe we should leave…” 

“Stay!” Bruce yelled at Barry.  
  
“Don’t yell at him! You know what you’re right. The Mother Box changed me, I'm a different person now and maybe that's a good thing because I finally got the courage to do something I should've done a long time ago."

“You should’ve come to me.”Bruce thundered.

“Why? So _you_  could fix it?” Clark’s voice was calm yet bitter. “I don’t need a bank Bruce, not this time. I’m sorry I got everyone mixed up in this.” Slowly, he lifted up in the air then sped out.

A tense silence filled the space around them.

Diana laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulders, “Bruce, you remember when you said one day one of us has to go after him. Go after him Bruce before you lose him.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 Chapter 3

 

1. 

"How is it?" Bruce asked as he walked up to Alfred in the cave's equipment room.

"I managed." Alfred was hunched over the disassembled Bat cowl, peering at its optics. "You know, Master Bruce there are days when I sometimes wonder if you even listen to me," he removed the lens carefully, laying it on the table, preparing to run it through diagnostics. 

Bruce already knew where the conversation was going, he had several different versions of it from Alfred during the last week ever since Clark dropped the biggest bomb on him.

“Then there are days that I say to myself ‘all is not lost’. For example, the time when I asked you to find someone in Metropolis to make an honest man out of you, I didn’t realize you had already set your sights on Mr. Kent. Then of course, you try to murder him, now I realize it was a form of self-denial.”

“Please stop.” Bruce began hurrying down the hallway to escape him.

“Mr. Wayne, I want grandkids!” Alfred called after him.

                                       _______________________________

“Where’s Clark?” Bruce entered the hangar to rejoin the rest of the league for their meeting, Alfred’s words still ringing in his ears. Bruce and Cyborg had tracked a cache of stolen Luthor tech in a warehouse. Which they quietly stole back to throw off any suspicion on the League, since they still had to figure out what else was out there. During the confusing period after Luthor was taken into custody a number of R&D specs and tech were stolen and promptly vanished off the grid.

Diana and Barry were standing over a large blueprint spread across the table. Diana had successfully thwarted a major terrorist attack in the London stock Exchange in Paternoster Square and was now teaching Barry and Cyborg the strategies she used and why she used them. She also felt there was great value in teaching them basic military tactics in the perspective of someone without powers. Bruce was quietly impressed at how she used things like blueprints and paper diagrams instead of any digital tech because she felt it was important for them to appreciate information in different media and the thought and artistry that was involved in putting things on paper. Bruce was equally impressed that Barry was able to keep still and even Victor was looking on, interested.

“He mentioned he was hungry, so he went on his customary food run,” Diana said, still focused on the blueprint as she made notations on the margin.

“Food run? But Barry you’re here, why aren’t you with him? Bruce said

“It’s cool he went with Arthur,” Barry answered with nonchalance, still studying the sketches that Diana had made.

“Clark shouldn’t be going like that and with Arthur. Arthur isn’t as fast.”  _This was completely unnecessary in Bruce’s opinion Alfred could cook or order whatever Clark wanted to eat._

This time Barry actually looked up from studying, “Are you worried? Ohh… you look worried–”

“I’m not worried,” Bruce said coolly.

“Diana doesn’t he look worried,” Barry pressed on.

“He always looks worried,” she said distractedly as she sketched another detail on the blueprint. “So now, you see it was the best tactical advantage to breach the building on this side.”

Bruce joined them at the table, squinted at the diagram, sighed, then took out a pair of reading glasses, “In that scenario that is definitely the best approach, and yes, I am worried about Clark, what’s wrong with being worried. It’s my job to worry about everyone.” He folded the glasses with a snap before slipping it inside his vest pocket.

“Defensive, much,” Barry muttered under his breath.

“No… no, it’s something else,” Diana sing-songed softly.

Barry and Victor turned to each other, “Jealous.” They said in unison as they snickered.

Diana gave them both a wicked smile. “Very good, children.”

 _This is what slow death feels like._ Bruce thought.

“It’s been at least two weeks Bruce. What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing.”

“You know what the ancients say once you save a life you are responsible for that life,” Barry said sagely.

 “Barry, you know that’s a fake saying right? A Hollywood cliché. The debt shtick to explain why a perfectly happy native person would tag along the so-called adventurer.” Bruce lectured.

 “Look at you, Wikipedia is  _my_ shtick.” Barry said.

 Cyborg scanned Diana’s blueprint to archive it in his files, “The world is fond of fake sayings. I think most of them exist because we want them to be true.”

 “Hey, hey the Borg man getting in touch with his softer side.” Barry said. “When did you become so wise, young Padawan.”

 “I had to learn fast, since I have to work with you.”

 “Burn.”

 

The two began quietly arguing when was the word ‘Padawan’ first used, because they both felt all internet sources were just wrong.  Bruce went back to sit in front of the row of monitors, once again sifting satellite data. Diana was on her phone emailing the curator of the Berlin Museum, who needed her advice to best approach the restoration of a Hellenistic bust they had recently acquired.

 The alarm on Bruce’s phone beeped, subtly. It signaled that the elevator to the hangar was in use. After a minute Arthur stepped out of the lift.

 “You don’t have Clark with you.” He said in an accusing tone.

 “No, I don’t, _Bruce_. Cause I thought you had him. Didn’t you pick him up from school?” Arthur sniggered. “You sound like I left our five-year-old in the bus or something. Clark is fine, he said he’s sorry he could’nt come back, had to go somewhere. You know something else, you could... I don’t know... talk to him.” Arthur emphasized the last part by using Bruce’s deep Batman voice.

 “We talk.” Bruce ignored Arthur’s taunts with a look.

“Your version of “talking” is worse than not talking. It’s boring “talking about the weather” boring. The last couple of weeks have been hard on us, he comes in does his thing and then leaves. I want the fights back, the arguments.” Arthur’s green eyes glittered.

 “You and I fight,” Bruce said sullenly.

 “Yeah, but when we fight it’s more like “I want to dump you on the ground like a sack of potatoes” fight which is– again a little boring cause really I could easily dump you on the ground like a sack of potatoes. Not “I want to have to have rough animal sex with you” fight which would be fine with me, but I feel like we don’t have that kind of thing yet. But I’m open to suggestions,” he waggled his formidable eyebrows and smirked.

 “You are a strange man, Arthur Curry.”

 “No stranger, than you Batsy. Please go after him and yeah don’t forget the whole pregnant thing, you know.”

 

                                             

 2.

“Everything is within normal parameters, sir,” Ship said.

 Clark just completed scan. It still made him uneasy having Kelor and Ship look him over, but he might as well get used to it, this was going to be the new normal while he was pregnant. According to Ship size of the “gestating cells” was equivalent to that of a 12-week human and he had been ‘alive’ for less than 9 weeks ago. Ship also had mentioned that each day the cells were undergoing rapid growth and development unfamiliar to even Kryptonian parameters. Ship had chided him that he should submit himself properly to more frequent scans. He had to consider that seriously, and fit it into his schedule because his body had been changing. Early that morning, he had looked at himself at the mirror, and he definitely wasn’t imagining it. He was bigger, his belly slightly rounded like he had a couple of big meals and those meals weren't going anywhere. Lois was the first one who noticed it and she thought it was very cute. Clark was fairly alarmed, it was fine when he was wearing regular clothes he could just casually untuck his shirts, but the Superman suit was unforgiving in terms of leaving little to the imagination. The last thing he needed was the press speculating on more stuff about Superman, he could already see it "Superman's Mysterious Weight Gain." Speculations that could lead to more speculations. He didn’t even want to think of what the military would do if there was even a hint that he was pregnant. Maybe Ship can figure something out.

 After his scan he asked ship for advice. “You need to protect and conceal yourself from humans, to gestate safely while amongst them.”

 “If you put it that way, I guess yes,” Clark said

 “Interesting that you have to hide yourself from the very beings you protect each day.” Ship said.

 “Cynical already? Most of them are good but I need to be able to do what I do without worrying I will put the baby in danger.”

“Baby–– infant, a very young child, especially one newly or recently born." The Ship paused. “I strongly advise against continuing to be their protector Kal-El although you are stronger and better than them, they are barbarians. They have conspired to end you once; all evidence would point that they will do it again. It is not your duty as the last Kryptonian to be their protector.”

“Have you and Zod been talking?" Clark was worried, if he couldn't fully trust Ship, he would be at a lost. "Cause that doesn’t sound like something my father would believe.”

“Zod is unable to influence me if that is what you fear. I am merely fulfilling my duty and that is to advice. And I am also here to assist you Kal-El, therefore I will reprogram your suit so you can gestate among them safely.” To Clark, Ship almost sounded like an exasperated parent. “They will see you unchanged.”

 “You sound unhappy,” Clark said experimentally.

“Unhappy- not satisfied, not pleased. These conditions do not apply to me. It is always a pleasure to serve the Last Son of Krypton.”

_Great. Sarcasm from my AI. Wonderful._

                                                            ________________

“You want me to teach you how to fight?”

 “You did say that I was raised in a farm. I have more things to protect now. So yeah, teach me.” Clark knew he just got extremely lucky with Zod. The only thing that gave him a slight advantage was the fact that he had been on Earth for 30 years instead of just 30 minutes, other than that Zod could’ve easily killed him.

 “Do you trust me now, Kal-El?” Zod’s hard light hologram assessed him. Hard light tech Clark had learned was something Kryptonians had adapted from a planet called Oa centuries ago.

 “I trust Ship.” Clark said.

 “You are right to trust. The Ship has an affinity for you. If I must teach you I need you to study the tomes.” Zod said

 “That doesn’t sound good.”

 “You are Kryptonian. The only way to learn Torquasm–Rao is to study the tomes first. The mind first then the breathing, then movement. Ship will provide you with the tomes. Study the Epoch of Rao and I will see you tomorrow. I want to see if your mind is worthy of your Kryptonian blood.”

Clark deliberately ignored the insult. “You’re giving me homework?”

“Homework. Yes. You are lucky you are not in Krypton. You will have more homework.  

Ship remarked she had studied the various electronic information and communication devices that humans carry and reconfigured the liquid crystals to suit him. The “tomes” we’re contained in a regular looking tablet to Clark’s surprise. A regular looking tablet that covered Krypton’s early history and the many wars fought and how Torquasm-Rao was developed, easily six months worth of study in a university but Zod expected him to to know the material within 24 hours. Clark has to remind himself of the real reason why he needed to tolerate Zod.

                                         

––––––––––––––––

 

He flew out of the Ship, out to sky above the frozen tundra, when someone called his name. On top of one of the higher ice peaks Diana was waiting for him. He touched down next to her. She had a thick black cloak around her which would not be enough to give her adequate protection from the elements if she were human. This part of the world had temperatures at as low as –50 degrees Celsius.

 

“How are you Kal-El?”

 

“I’m fine. How did you know where to find me?” It will take time, he was still wary around her even if she had only shown him kindness. Maybe because he knew she was one of the few people that could truly hurt him, if she wanted to.

 

“I have my ways. I need to speak to you about Bruce.” Diana said.

 

Trust the immortal not waste any time, Clark observed, “Did he send you?”

 

“No one sent me,” her deep brown eyes studied him. “You need to come and talk to him.

 

“Diana, I don’t think he wants to listen. He’s already convinced that I’m wrong. He’s stubborn like that. And I’m stubborn too. Look, I’m always around when I’m needed for the League and for all of you guys. But it will not be the same.” He gave a sad smile.

 

“And you know you were wrong too. Think about that.”

 

“But, you know my reasons and why it had to be done that way.” 

 

“Kal, you have your ship back. No one will ever take it away from you. But, realize that Bruce has resources and because of those resources he had the ability to smooth over the feathers you ruffled with your actions.”

 

“What do you mean”

 

“Ask him Kal.”

 

 

3.

Three days later.

 “You really like to think down here, do you?”

 “How did you find me?”

 “I  _listened_.”

 Bruce considered this. He knew Clark would come, maybe it was just the egotistic side of him that made him think that or maybe he just believed that Clark would be the better man. Bruce felt the slight breeze when Clark touched down behind him. His fingers twitched over the keyboard and before he could stop himself he spun around.

 “Look–” he stopped mid-sentence. Clark was wearing a red plaid shirt, untucked and dark loose pants. His hands hung on his side, a slight smile on his face. He looked  _good._

 “Diana told me about you did something so the government won’t come after me, because of the ship.”

 “I know Amanda Waller she used to run the Suicide Squad. And as you know she is in the business of making things happen or not happen in this case. Batman has cleaned up a couple of her messes. So for now, she has agreed to a détente, but she wants to talk to you.”

 “Does she know about Batman?”

 “Yes.”

 “I guess that’s another bank, huh?”

 Bruce slowly stood up and walked towards Clark. He could see Clark tense up. “It’s not like that. It was never like that. I want you to know that please.”

 Clark stood there in front of him, so close. He could feel that heat that came from Clark’s body. Those eyes studying him once again searching his face. Gently, he touched the tip of his fingers. Clark just let him. Bruce took his fingers and brought them to his lips and kept them pressed there. And Clark let him.

 “I was scared, Bruce. I knew you didn’t want things to be different for us. Heck, I wasn't even sure what I wanted for us, if there was  _even_  an us. So, I when I found out I was pregnant, I thought whatever we had was done."

Bruce released Clark's hands and placed his own over Clark's belly."There's you, this baby and if you would have me–– I would love to be an...us, all of  _us."_

"Bruce, are you sure?" Clark gently took Bruce’s hand in his, held it for a moment then let it go. “Because honestly, I don’t think that will be such a good idea, because most days I just feel like I’m not sure of most things anymore.” he held Bruce’s gaze and there was something infinitely sad in his eyes. “Ever since I found out I was pregnant … it has been a little overwhelming. Being dead was easier to deal with,” he smiled ruefully. “I remembered there was this blinding pain and then it was gone, and I woke up to this amazing feeling of just being alive…it was like flying for the first time again. It was like waking up from a long nap and finding out you can do all these things and you can help and make a difference. Then one day, _one day_ I saw there was life within me and I seriously freaked out…”

 “Clark…” Bruce started to say but decided against it. Because realistically what can he say; ‘that’s normal in your condition’ will never work. This is why fathers-to-be get in so much trouble… Steppenwolf was a thousand times easier.

 “I was confused, bewildered. That same feeling I had when I was ten years old–– when I all I wished was to be normal. It was like living one of my dreams where I just keep falling and all I could do was try to grab onto something, make sense of it, do my best…. for us… we are all that we have.” His hand came over his stomach protectively.

“Clark, I will not pretend that I can even imagine how you feel right now. But please believe me, you are _not_ all that you have.”

“it’s ok Bruce, I’ll still be here for the League… for you. You don’t have to feel like you’re responsible for us.”

Bruce inhaled deeply, "I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."  The disconcerting memory of how "sure" he was that Clark would burn the world down crossed his mind at that precise moment. He  _really_  was his own worst enemy without a doubt. He sighed.

 "Clark, listen, you stole my heart when I thought there was nothing to steal. You made me see how it is to hope again…”

 A slight quirk appeared on Clark's lips. "Those lines...wow..."

 “Jesus, Clark, I'm trying here …” Bruce chuckled, and he started stroking Clark’s belly.

 “I know, you poor thing. We are all a work in progress." He stood on tiptoes and gave Bruce a peck on his cheek.

 They stood there quietly, leaning on each other. Letting the moment wash over them. 

 "So, Amanda Waller, huh, she really wants to talk to me? I heard she’s really scary.” Clark said.

 “Don’t worry I’ll talk to her.”

 “Bruce, I’ll be perfectly fine talking to her.” Clark hummed at the feel of Bruce’s big cool hands stroking his stomach.

 “I don’t want her upsetting you.”

 “Bruce,  _you’re_  upsetting me.”

 Bruce bent his head and took Clark’s face in the palms of his hands and kissed him fiercely, “I missed you,” He breathed into his lips.

 Clark looked into his eyes then hoisted himself up Bruce’s body whose knees almost buckled when Clark wrapped his powerful, muscular thighs around him. But Bruce didn't do Crossfit with several hundred pounds of tires for nothing. He steadily held Clark, even as Clark kissed him hungrily, his hips rocking into Bruce. Bruce could feel Clark’s cock, its tip wet and pushing against the thin material of his pants. Apparently, Clark came there, commando. That just enflamed Bruce more and he deepened the kiss, hot and aggressive. He turned them and pressed Clark’s back against the wall (Bruce was quietly grateful that Alfred had fixed that girder there that Clark bent).

 Bruce held him in place against the wall, so he could plunder that mouth that drove him crazy, as Clark continued to rock into him. Suddenly, Bruce jerked his head up Clark frowned at him, “What?”

 ”The bruises you had...”

 ”Bruce, I’ll be fine. I trust you. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

It was almost vertiginous, when Clark looked at him like that even as the voices in his head reproached him– how undeserving Bruce was. But Clark just had a way of kissing those voices away; his insecurities and mental fortifications slowly being melted away by Clark's hot and eager body pressing on him.  “I think we should take this upstairs. Super speed. It’s far.” Bruce said.

 ”Yes!”

 Bruce found out was one thing to have sex with Clark when he was hyped up in Mother Box energy, but it was another thing to have sex with a Clark at this point of his pregnancy, if it was at all possible– Clark was more responsive, extra sensitive and just extra horny. It was great, he was having the best sex of his life he just needed to keep up somehow. _Easy Peasy._

While they lay on the bed sated Bruce turned to Clark and asked him to describe exactly how the pregnancy was at all possible. He knew from Clark’s stories his mother had the first natural pregnancy in centuries.

“The Ship had said male pregnancies happened centuries ago but they were extremely rare, she thinks the Mother Box, the Codex  combined with more than 30 years of solar radiation in my body made all of this possible. ”

“The Ship speaks to you?”

“Yes, Bruce,” Clark yawned next to him. It’s run by an  AI downloaded from a key I had when I was a baby.”

Bruce processed all of this information in his head. He needed to see hard data and biometrics. And of course, he needed to see the Ship.

“Have you x-rayed yourself.”

“What is this? 20 questions? Yes, I did, and Ship checked me too.”

“Ship checked you, ok.” Bruce filed that tidbit in his head, that it wasn’t just any AI and ultimately, he wanted to check Clark with his own tech.

They were quiet for a while, Bruce not yet sleeping even with his previous exertions. Finally, he asked, “Clark is it human? Not that it matters.” He added quickly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean?”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.” Came Clark’s sleepy voice. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, I promise. I know the gears in your head are working overtime. And before you even think about it, I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with  you standing over me with some sort of probe trying to scan my stomach.”

Bruce made a protesting sound.

“I’m serious or else no sex for a week.”

“Fine.” Bruce grumbled.

Later while Clark was asleep next to him, Bruce knew there was a time when he would have just ended this, Clark seemed prepared to end it. Clark was pregnant, a pregnant male by this world's standards. It should unnerve him more, the thousand and one complications it would bring if the world knew, the thousand and one complications it has already brought into his life. But he lives in a world that has; an immortal Amazon warrior, a human capable of super speeding through the sound barrier and beyond, a cyborg of human and alien parts, a half human and _Atlantean_. And funny enough the "Clark" complication was something that he had accepted (he wasn't sure when)  and if the kid was an alien clone or actually his it didn't matter– because it was _Clark’s._

Before Bruce left for patrol, he traced the smooth curve of Clark’s midsection with his fingers and thought about the life there; he thought how they were brought together by strange, unnamable powerful forces in the universe; that it took a dying planet so Clark can come here, it was a terrifying thing if you think about it how he, Bruce Wayne could deserve something so big and so important. And maybe for once he could try not to doubt it but cherish, protect it and just live in its little moments, pending any brain melting global catastrophe. 

The conversation didn’t happen the next day, a very Clark thing to do–– something that wasn't lost on Bruce. When Bruce came back from a long night of surveillance on the Gotham harbor Clark had left because he had “to make an appearance at the Planet”- as per his text and a kissy faced emoji. _Our kid will definitely not be using emojis, it'll be five different languages not including English and at least 2 ancient ones and maybe a dead one…_ The thought came easily enough —he was aware of that, it was a little bit premature but he was a father once and right now he liked thinking he can be one again.

**_________________________**

 

Bruce was trying really, really hard not to yawn at the 12-noon board meeting. Thirty more minutes to go. The phone vibrating on his vest pocket roused him. It was a text from Barry. Quickly, he excused himself out of the room, earning reproachful look from his Chief Operations Officer- Lucius Fox. Bruce tilted his head in apology which was also their signal for Batman business.

          –Sorry, to bother you. Can you send somebody to pick us up.

Bruce reflexively texted back.

          –Text me the address. I’ll send a car over.

There were long minutes before the next texts came with the address.

           - Please don’t be mad.

Bruce took a moment to massage the growing tension headache on his forehead no doubt caused by an artery that was about to burst at that precise moment . It was an address in Ho Chi Minh –– Vietnam. He pushed the speed dial button aggressively.

“Why are you there?”

“Hey…how’s it going… so Clark said he could smell the bun cha and grilled crab claws in his office while he was working…”

“Barry, it’s the middle of the night there.”

“Yeah… but Clark said that’s when they have the best crab claws. Anyway, we were fine until Clark said he can’t fly… and speeding is out of the question cause he’s nauseous…”

Bruce could hear some shuffling, “Bruce, please don’t get mad at him,” Clark said.

“I’m not mad at him. I’m not mad at any body. Just stay put.” Bruce gritted out.

“It’s ok I’m fine…just need a couple of minutes. This nice lady gave me cool towels to put over my head and neck.” Bruce could hear Clark thanking someone in Vietnamese.

“That’s not true. He still looks green.” Barry yelled at the background.

“Stay put!”

He was already texting Alfred on his second phone explaining the situation and within 30 minutes a private car was already picking up Barry and Clark by a food cart in District 4 in Ho Chi Minh City, eventually heading to the airport.

Bruce sighed deeply, it was like herding cats with these two. He was going to guilt trip Clark on this; the baby, getting him out of his meeting (which he was grateful for, but Clark didn’t need to know that), and the _worry_ he caused him. Oh, yes it was going to be a long talk and Bruce will enjoy every minute of it.

 

                                 SBSBSBSBSBSBS

The pig roast that had been Arthur’s idea initially became a 'much needed team bonding activity' in Barry’s words and definitely can only happen with Bruce’s blessings. Bruce grudgingly agreed. Three weeks later in Fiji, Clark leaned against a palm tree as he watched Arthur teach Barry and Victor how to properly roast a pig. Diana watched them from the safety of her lounge chair and beach umbrella laughing as the cooking lesson devolved into rough housing. Clark contentedly sipped the delicate flavored coconut drink when strong hands embraced him from the back.

“Soon I won't be able to do this," Bruce circled his arms around the fullness of Clark’s belly, resting his chin against Clark’s neck

“Yup. I’ll be bigger than a house.” He was getting annoyed but then Bruce started stroking his expanding midsection. His cool hands felt like salve, he relaxed into Bruce’s embrace purring almost.

“You can never be bigger than a house. Well maybe a small house…"

Clark smacked him lightly, he could still hurt Bruce even if his powers occasionally fluctuated.

“So, names.”

“Names.”

“I’ve given some thought to it.” Bruce said lightly.

“Thought. You, giving something ‘thought’ to something is equivalent to planning an invasion of a small country.”

“That’s not accurate.”

“You, not overthinking is  _not_  accurate.” He said wryly

“No, the invasion of a small country. It’s unnecessary. All you need is to buy a majority of the stocks of its controlling industry, a little land here and there. Spread it over a couple of years so no one will be suspicious.

Clark made a face.

“Well, I have the usual list of conventional male and female names, including possible Kryptonian name combinations since you’re keeping the sex of the baby a secret.”

“Let me live, Bruce. By the way, Ship had to recalibrate all biometric scanners to accommodate for a Kryptonian-human hybrid."

"I like Ship. And I happen to know Ship is very fond of me. She gives me new toys." Bruce's meeting with Zod however was slightly more challenging. For now, Clark planned to power down Zod's consciousness whenever Bruce would visit. It was a work in progress for both of them. He started nuzzling Clark's neck, pushing back any thought of AI in-laws.

"So anyway, we figured out something... Its babies."

The threat of having more than one made Bruce stop teasing Clark's neck, "Ok, it's twins."

"No... its three."

 

 

 

 

 

FIN

 

 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I HOPE you guys enjoyed me and Albi's joint effort for The Superbat Reverse Bang 2018. Please drop a kudos, a comment or both for Albi's Art here:

 <https://archiveofourown.org/collections/superbatreversebang2018/works/14695554>

 This is the second time I wrote something that has mpreg in it. For this one I thought about Albi's brilliant prompt, the decidedly light touch to it and the idea that it should somehow be conceivably set in the DCEU universe. I love the characters in this universe, it was a cool challenge to balance all these elements.

When I first posted this it was during the aftermath of a google doc shenanigan which was a little traumatizing because it ate most of chapter 3. So some edits have been done since it was posted. Hopefully, when my life has calmed down i can revisit this story in a form of a series cause you know– Mama Clark, Daddy Bruce and Grandpa! Alfred.

Thank you to everyone who read the fic and left kudos and comments. 

Update: Since so many of you guys want the story to continue ( <5 people but I’m easy to convince about these things ;)))) I will continue this in a series with the awesomely imaginative title of: Baby Daddy ❤️

 

 

 

 


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